


A Single Step

by cassie_black



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: hd_holidays, Getting Together, Hand Jobs, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Jealous Harry, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pureblood Culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 04:10:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15721695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassie_black/pseuds/cassie_black
Summary: All those years Hermione had been telling him to study harder, Harry had never dreamt it could lead to this.





	A Single Step

**Author's Note:**

> Written back in 2011 for hd_holidays on LiveJournal.

**Title:** A Single Step  
**Pairing(s):** Harry/Draco, Ron/Pansy, implied Hermione/Terry Boot  
**Summary:** All those years Hermione had been telling him to study harder, Harry had never dreamt it would lead to this.  
**Rating:** R  
**Disclaimer:** All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.  
**Warning(s):** None  
**Epilogue compliant?** LOL!  
**Word Count:** 24,970  
**Author's Notes:**

 

A loud slamming door shattered the silence of the Slytherin dungeons. It caused barely a raised eyebrow, such was that house's immunity to dramatics – and given some notable residents of said dungeon, both past and present, this was hardly to be wondered at.

"I can't take it anymore." Pansy Parkinson, architect of this particular scene, flounced into the 8th year boys' dormitory and flung herself down onto one of the beds.

Draco Malfoy, owner/occupier of the bed in question, paused briefly in his perusal of Gladrags latest mail order offering and glanced at his best friend. "Millicent again?" he asked, tone somewhat bored. This was also hardly to be wondered at given that just three weeks into term, Pansy's increasingly irate tirades against her roommate were becoming a now-familiar part of Draco's routine.

"She's disgusting," Pansy blurted out after a particularly deep breath. "You thought you had it bad sharing with Crabbe and Goyle – trust me, they have nothing on Millicent."

Draco's gaze flickered briefly to the two empty beds that flanked the main door. They were a constant stark reminder of his friends' fate, and Draco couldn't help but wonder if their continued presence wasn't in some way a deliberate attempt to unsettle him. If it was, it had certainly worked. By the end of their first week back, Draco had been on the verge of destroying them, and only much reasoning on the part of both Blaise and Theo had talked him down.

Pansy, who more than most understood the truth of what those empty beds meant to Draco, was instantly chastised. "Sorry," she said quickly. "I didn't mean to..."

Draco silenced her with a quick gesture – he really didn't want to talk about it. Not even to Pansy.

"I don't know why you don't say something about them." Never suppressed for long, Pansy nodded at the empty beds. "It must be depressing as hell looking at them every day."

Despite the somewhat maudlin thoughts overwhelming Draco, he couldn't help but smile just a little – Pansy really had no idea when to shut up. "What's Millicent done now?" he asked, hoping this would be hint enough to rein Pansy's tongue in.

It was. Much to Draco's relief.

"It's like living with a man," Pansy groused, as if on cue. "Not you, darling, of course," she added hurriedly upon spotting Draco's expression. "A really uncouth, slovenly man."

"You've shared a room with her for seven years, Pans. How is it you've only just noticed?"

Pansy shrugged lightly and snagged the open catalogue off Draco's lap. "It wasn't so obvious when there were four of us. But now Tracey and Daphne are gone, it's just so...in my face!" Pansy began rapidly flipping through the catalogue, her fingers snapping at the pages, while she paid no heed to their contents. "And that damn cat of hers! She lets it sleep on the bed. _My_ bed." Pansy paused here and looked at Draco in horror. "Last night my sheets were so covered in ginger hair, it looked like I'd been gangbanged by a bunch of Weasleys."

Draco laughed and shuddered at the same time. "Poor baby," he soothed, and added a pat to Pansy's head as he got to his feet.

"Don't patronise," Pansy snapped. "It's not funny. This morning it was sick in my knicker drawer!"

Draco tried his best to choke back a laugh. The tone of outrage in Pansy's voice told she was in no mood to see the funny side just yet. Instead, he busied himself with gathering his various text books and parchment scrolls together.

"—I'm sorry. Is my misery boring you?"

Draco snapped his attention back to Pansy in surprise. He'd been so engrossed in his task that he hadn't been listening.

Pansy now lay on her front, feet kicked up behind her, as she tracked Draco's progress around the room through narrowed eyes. "What _are_ you doing?"

"I'm about to head off to the library," Draco replied as he shoved the last weighty tome into his bag. "It's almost seven." He nodded at the wall behind him as if to illustrate the point.

Pansy didn't need to look any closer for explanation. Draco's study planner had already been the subject of much mockery in the dungeons, but not even the bestowed nickname of _Granger_ could alter his adherence to it. She shook her head slowly. "There was a time when _study_ was just a euphemism for you," she bemoaned. "You're no fun anymore."

It was all Draco could do not to roll his eyes; this conversation was becoming old already. "The NEWTs won't pass themselves," was all he said in response. 

Pansy gave a disbelieving snort. "Please, like you need to worry about that. You have a work ethic that would make a Ravenclaw blush, _and_ the brain to match." She shut the catalogue firmly and then shuffled into a seating position with her legs crossed. "It's our last year at school, Draco. We should be making the most of it, having some fun, not swotting so hard that you'll end up with specs like Potter."

The mention of Potter's name no longer provoked the same reaction from Draco. It hadn't for some months, not since the four-eyed git had saved his life. Try as he might, and being Draco he certainly had, he just couldn't think of Potter with the same amount of disdain after that point. "Don't you think we've got too much ground to make up to be worrying about having fun?" Draco shouldered his bag and looked intently at his friend.

Pansy's expression changed into one of sadness and she shook her head again. "Draco, don't take this the wrong way, but you really need to get laid. It's been how long? The summer after fifth year, wasn't it? That cute French boy?"

"Well, forgive me," Draco snapped, Pansy having finally raised his ire. "But I've been a bit busy since then."

But Pansy wasn't to be moved. "But that's all over with now," she pointed out gently. 

"It'll never be over," Draco replied, his voice low. "Not really.

~~~

"Where are you off to now?"

The complaining tones of one Ronald Weasley were becoming an all too familiar sound in the Gryffindor common room. To Harry, the usual recipient of said complaints, it was something akin to nails on a blackboard.

This particular evening, Harry had been hoping to escape unscathed under the cover of Ron's current chess game with Neville. It was not to be.

He paused halfway across the common room and turned reluctantly on his heel. He received sympathetic glances from several of his year mates, but that was as far as it went. He was on his own. Something, Harry thought rather depressingly, he was all too familiar with.

"I'm off to the library." Harry tried to keep his tone as neutral as possible – it didn't take much to set Ron off these days, and he knew better than to accost Hermione, the true target of his irritation. "I've got homework to do," Harry added for good measure.

"You're always in that bloody library nowadays," Ron grumbled as he viciously knocked out Neville's queen. "Check," he stated triumphantly, before turning his attention back to Harry. "I barely see you anymore outside of lessons."

"It's an important year, Ron." Harry winced even as the words left his mouth – he knew exactly what was coming next.

"Merlin's balls, Harry. It's not bad enough you've picked Hermione's study habits, now you're even talking like her. It's easy to see who you'd rather spend your time with."

Harry bristled slightly at the unfair accusation, but he took a deep breath and calmed himself before replying. "I'm not spending my time with anyone. I've barely seen Hermione this last week – whatever it is she's off doing, she's not doing it in the library."

"It'll be important _Head Girl_ stuff, no doubt," Ron muttered, watching gleefully as Neville floundered for his next move. "She'll be somewhere poncing about with that wanker Boot."

"Ron—"

"I don't know why you try and defend him." Ron cut Harry off before he could finish. "Everyone knows you should have been Head Boy this year. McGonagall's gone barking mad if you ask me."

Harry refrained from rolling his eyes with difficulty – this was another conversation they'd gone the rounds of numerous times. The only thing that stopped Harry from losing his rag was the tightness in his chest that occurred when he realised that Ron was outraged on _his_ behalf.

"It's done with now," Harry said carefully. "No point going over old ground."

Ron looked like he very much disagreed, but any comment he was likely to have made was washed away by Neville's stunned declaration of _Checkmate_. 

Seizing his chance, because a Ron losing at chess was a Ron with eyes for little else, Harry muttered his excuses and headed for the door.

Ron may have been distracted by more pressing matters, but he wasn't the only Weasley interested in Harry's whereabouts.

Harry barely had one foot out of the portrait hole when he spotted Ginny leaning against the wall, an almost amused gaze fixed on him.

"Off to get some _studying_ done, Harry?"

The inflection she used on that particular word was unmissable, but the reason behind it had Harry confused. "Yes," he answered, though it came out as more of a question. "Slughorn wants two feet on the reactive properties of Moonstone by the end of next week – thought I'd get a head start on it."

If Harry hadn't known better, he would have sworn Ginny smirked.

"Really." The disbelief in her tone was hard to miss, and just like earlier with Ron, Harry bristled. "Yes, really. Why would I lie?"

The smirk dropped from Ginny's face and was replaced instantly by a look of surprise. "Oh my god." She shook her head slowly as she pushed away from the wall. "You're actually serious aren't you?" Ginny stepped closer, and before Harry could respond, she continued. "I thought you had a hot date or something. You're _never_ this keen to get school work done."

"Sorry to disappoint, Gin." Harry allowed a hint of a smile to cross his face. "But the only date I've got tonight is with Madam Pince.

Ginny's shudder was neither small nor faked. "That's not even funny." And her tone certainly bore that out. "You know, this really wasn't what I had in mind when I suggested you try new things this year."

Harry just shrugged. He didn't need Ginny to explain that to him, but silence was much easier than trying to explain that he didn't know how. "It's an important year," he said weakly.

Ginny just gave him a _look_. One that made Harry both sad and relieved in equal measure that they were no longer going out.

"I thought you'd take the chance to relax, have a bit of fun. Honestly, Harry, you're eighteen, not eighty. You should try acting like a kid while you still can."

"I haven't been a kid in a long while." Harry's tone was matter of fact, but it didn't stop the pitying look Ginny gave him.

"I'd better get a move on," Harry said suddenly, desperate to avoid any following conversation. "This essay won't write itself."

Fortunately they were still close enough for Ginny to read his moods – something she'd always been able to do far better than either Ron or Hermione.

"Okay," Ginny said quietly before she turned to go.

But she wasn't done.

Harry was halfway down the corridor when he heard it.

"Don't think you're getting of that easily, Harry Potter. You'll have fun this year if it kills me. Or you."

~~~

Draco's usual table was far in the deepest recesses of the library, just off the barely trodden path to the Restricted Section. The other pupils avoid this corner out of fear or superstition, and nowadays those brave enough to stray this way take one look at the table's latest occupant and scurried away.

If anyone had bothered to ask, and truthfully no one had as of yet, Draco would have explained with barely concealed irritation that his choice of spot had more to do with avoiding distraction than any attempt to hide away. And that was the truth – or at least part of it.

He wasn't afraid of what the other students would _do_ to him – Draco was intimately acquainted with the taste of fear, and this definitely was not it – but the looks of disdain, the sneers, the muffled gossip and barely concealed fear was beginning to grind him down. There had been a time when Draco would have welcomed such notoriety. That time was long gone.

So most evenings Draco sought out his secluded little corner of the Hogwarts' Library where he remained unmolested by students and Madam Pince alike.

Or at least he had, until Harry Potter.

When a shadow fell over Draco's parchment, he looked up with no small amount of shock – visitors rarely stayed long enough for contact to take place.

When confronted with uncertain green eyes, veiled by a messy fringe, it all made perfect sense. Of course it was Potter. Everyone else had the good sense to stay away.

"Mind if I join you?"

The usual arrogance that Draco associated with his erstwhile rival seemed to have vanished, and in its place a surprising note of uncertainty.

Biting back every retort that sprang to mind, including several that were entirely too witty to be wasted in this manner, Draco gestured vaguely at the empty seats.

"Be my guest, Potter. Just see you don't get trampled in the rush."

Potter smiled awkwardly and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. Something, Draco had learnt over his many years of observation, which meant he was feeling distinctly uneasy.

A loud scrape followed as Potter selected his seat. Barely managing to suppress a wince, Draco returned his focus to Professor Vector's latest torture method, which was cunningly disguised as his Arithmancy homework.

Concentrating was another matter altogether.

"Don't you usually travel in a pack?" After five minutes on edge waiting for the moment Weasley and Granger appeared to denounce their friend's seating arrangements, Draco could take the suspense no longer. He dropped his quill on the desk and just _stared_.

Clearly Potter was not troubled by the same distractions. "Huh?" He looked up, apparently reluctantly, from his parchment and frowned at Draco.

"Your sidekicks," Draco continued, not even troubling to hide his eye-roll this time. "I barely recognise you without them tagging along."

"I could say the same to you."

Draco couldn't have hidden his flinch if he'd tried, nor could he have missed the exact moment when Potter realised what he'd said.

"Shit, Malfoy! I'm sorry. I didn't mean…I just…"

"It's fine." Draco waved his apologies aside. However heartfelt they appeared to be, if Draco wasn't prepared to approach the topic with Pansy, he certainly wasn't going there with Potter.

Fortunately it seemed that Potter, thick-skinned though Draco had always assumed him to be, took the hint and changed the subject immediately – right back to Draco's original question.

"Hermione's off doing _Head Girl_ stuff somewhere with Terry; I hardly see her outside of lessons nowadays. And Ron," Potter paused here and smiled softly to himself. "Well, I suspect he's either off sulking somewhere or else he's hounding Neville to give him a rematch." Potter directed the smile at Draco now. "He's a terrible loser when it comes to chess."

Draco blinked. That his question had garnered any answer at all was surprising, but the level of detail offered rendered him temporarily speechless. His thought process, however, still functioned fine.

Having observed Weasley over the past seven years, Draco would have liked to argue the point that it was only at chess where his poor sportsmanship appeared. And as for Granger, well, if rumours were to be believed, what she was _doing_ was not so much Head Girl _duties_ as it was the Head Boy himself. But Draco was fairly certain that to mention either now would be a sure fire way to end this unexpected détente.

"Oh." It wasn't Draco's most impressive response to date, but it was the best he could manage given the circumstances _and_ the fact that most of his alternative remarks were likely to see him on the wrong end of a hex. And then, because it occurred to him that after only a couple of minutes in Potter's company he had become as, if not more, inarticulate, Draco forced himself to continue.

"And what about you, Potter? What are you up to?"

Potter looked from his parchment and textbooks to Draco's face with an expression that would clearly have said _Duh_ if only it could have spoken. "Homework," he answered then, and Draco was reluctantly impressed by the lack of mockery in both tone and words. It was an opportunity he would have been unable to let pass.

"Thank you for clearing that mystery up for me." Draco held back the eye roll with great restraint, and so allowed a hint of sarcasm to colour his tone as reward. "I can see perfectly well _what_ you're doing, what isn't immediately apparent is _why_ you're doing it. Because, and forgive me for pointing it out, but you've never exactly been known for your study habits – unless we're counting a lack thereof."

Something truly strange was happening – Draco was convinced of it. Because instead of the scowl he'd fully expected to receive, Potter just wore a rueful grin and gave a shake of those damnable shaggy locks. 

"It's NEWT's year, Malfoy, and I'd like to come out with some decent grades. I don’t exactly fancy a career wiping tables at the Leaky."

Draco exhaled loudly and managed to make it sound as dismissive as possible. "Please," he scoffed, quite unable to help himself. "Everyone knows there's already a spot in the Auror department with your name written all over it. Weasley too for that matter. The Ministry's not about to let something as insignificant as NEWT results get in the way of snaring its golden boy."

Again Potter displayed none of the rancour that Draco had come to associate with these kinds of interactions. Instead, he appeared rather uncertain. Nervous even, if the way his fingers were twitching his quill was anything to go by. 

"I'm not joining the Aurors."

Even in the isolated quiet of their location, Draco had to strain to hear those words. "What?" And even though he _had_ heard, he could scare believe his ears. 

Potter made eye contact this time – his gaze filled with a new steely determination. "I'm not joining the Aurors." His words were barely more audible this time, but they resonated loud and clear with Draco.

"I bet that went down well with Weasley." Draco's brain-to-mouth filter seemed to have failed – an occurrence that was all too common in Potter's presence. But honestly, he'd heard enough comments from the Weasel about _when me and Harry are Aurors_ to know the truth of his own statement.

"Ron doesn't know yet." Potter's gaze faltered a little with this admission, and Draco could see when the shock at having made it registered on his face.

"I have to go." Potter scrambled his belongings together and crammed them haphazardly into his bag. Before Draco could think of anything further to say, he was on his feet. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't spread that around, Malfoy," he added neutrally as he slung his bag onto his shoulder.

"I won't." The words were out of Draco's mouth before he had time to process them, and he was even more surprised to realise that he meant it. Potter didn't hang around to notice this, though. He disappeared between the bookshelves leaving a stunned Draco staring at where he'd once sat, wondering what the hell had just happened.

~~~

Harry couldn't remember the last time he'd been so grateful for the existence of his Invisibility Cloak – and given the level of unwanted attention he'd received over the last six months, that was certainly saying something.

Upon leaving the library, and Malfoy, Harry had felt a wave of relief sweep over him. He hadn't realised just how much keeping that particular secret had been weighing him down. Just saying the words out loud felt liberating.

The walk back to Gryffindor tower had begun with a spring in his step, but with every passing yard, Harry felt the all too familiar mantle of guilt settle more and more firmly onto his shoulders. By the time he reached the portrait hole, Harry was scrabbling desperately in his bag for his Cloak.

Just the thought of Ron's expression when he discovered that not only was Harry backing out on their childhood plan, but that he'd told Malfoy of all people about it first. Harry wasn't sure which he dreaded most – the initial expression of gut-wrenching betrayal, or the fiery explosion that would follow. Neither were particularly appealing a prospect, and with Ron already annoyed with the world in general, it was bound to heighten his reaction.

Harry was a terrible liar. He knew that without having to be told. Which, he supposed, should really be a good thing, but right at that moment, Harry could only wish he'd embraced his Slytherin side more.

 _"Never too late_ ," he muttered to himself as he swirled the fluid fabric around his body.

Of course, the trouble with wanting to remain invisible was that it meant Harry couldn't enter the tower until some else came out. A couple of words escaped his mouth that would have had Mrs Weasley cuff his ear had she heard, and then Harry settled back reluctantly against the wall.

The fates were clearly smiling on him for once, because barely had Harry's back pressed against through stone wall, than the portrait hole swung open and Dean Thomas slid out. Dean couldn't have looked more shifty if he was hanging around outside hidden under an Invisibility Cloak, and Harry couldn't help but grin to himself as he slid through the entrance in Dean's wake – clearly he wasn't the only one keeping secrets.

Harry had further cause to be grateful for his Cloak when he entered the common room and found Hermione in residence. She was perched on the sofa next to a disgruntled-looking Ron, and while they clearly weren't on the friendliest of terms, at least they appeared to be speaking.

Harry loved Hermione – she was like a best friend and sister all rolled into one – but she was entirely too perceptive for his comfort. Harry knew she'd take one look at him, see through his carefully manufactured façade of nonchalance, and then she'd just _know_. And all his ideas of breaking the news to Ron gently would be shot to hell. And Harry had plans, tentative though they may be, and he wasn't ready to subject his fledgling ambitions to Hermione's judicious scrutiny just yet.

So, dodging carefully around Dennis Creevey – who he still struggled to face after what had happened to Colin – Harry headed swiftly up the stairs to the boys' dormitory. Once inside he was relieved to find himself alone – it was a rare luxury these days – so he headed over to his bed intent on already being asleep before his roommates, and Ron in particular, decided to join him.

The smiling of the fates on him had long since ceased it appeared though. Because as Harry yanked back the curtains on his bed, it was to find a grinning Ginny Weasley reclining against his pillows.

"Gin, what the hell are you doing?" Harry looked nervously over his shoulder – the last thing he needed now was the arrival of an angry brother intent on misreading the situation.

"Relax, Harry." If possible, the grin on Ginny's face became brighter. "Your virtue is safe with me."

Harry flushed slightly at the hidden meaning of that comment. "I thought you said you wouldn't men—" 

"I didn't mean that." Ginny patted the mattress at the side of her. "I just want to have a chat."

Harry eyed her warily and didn't move. "About what?"

"Oh, I don't know," Ginny replied airily, and she began inspecting her fingernails. "How about that cosy little tête-à-tête you were having with Malfoy in the library earlier?"

Once again Harry's head snapped round in the direct of the door so quickly that he almost had whiplash. "I don't know what you're talking about," he replied, hoping beyond hope that Ginny was bluffing, but not quite able to figure out _why_ she would.

Ginny laughed and Harry knew instantly that his bluff had failed. Like Hermione, in fact more so, Ginny had always been able to see through him – he suspected it was one of the reasons why their rekindled romance had been so short-lived, and had ended so amicably.

"You do remember they added the Disillusionment Charm to the NEWT syllabus this year, don't you?"

Harry's jaw dropped momentarily at her audacity. "You _followed_ me?"

"Oh, don't start getting all morally outraged on me, Mr _I've got an Invisibility Cloak and I'm not afraid to use it._ "

It was a valid point well made, and Harry felt the moral high ground shift from under his feet. "I told you where I was going though." He finally dropped to the mattress at her side. "What did you actually expect to catch me doing in the library of all places?"

"I certainly didn't expect to see you and Malfoy making eyes at each other, that's for sure."

It took a few moments for her words to register in Harry's brain, but when they did, his cheeks flushed and he spluttered his outrage. "Don't be so ridiculous; Malfoy's a bloke."

Ginny gave a gentle shrug. "So's Dean, but that didn’t stop you telling me what a nice arse he had."

If it was possible, Harry's face burned an even brighter shade of red. "I was _drunk_." It sounded weak even to his own ears.

And Ginny's too, apparently, because she just gave a dismissive wave of her hand. "Maybe, but it doesn't make you any less gay."

"But I…That's just…" Harry tailed off at the sight of Ginny's amused smirk. He folded his arms across his chest with a huff. "I _like_ girls," he said stubbornly.

"Just not enough to get hard for them."

"Ginny!" Harry was genuinely shocked to hear her talk like that, but also a little afraid she meant to go over an event they had both agreed never to speak of again. "I was drunk," he said again, quieter this time, and unable to meet her gaze.

The mattress shifted and suddenly Harry felt Ginny's arm around him and her head on his shoulder. "You can't keep using that as an excuse for everything," she said, her voice gentle but firm. She reached out with her free hand and took hold of Harry's right one. "Look, Harry, I don't care if you're gay, bi, or even if you've got a touch of the Aberforths—"

"Hey!" Harry made to pull away but Ginny held firm – her grip surprisingly strong for a girl.

She ploughed on as if he hadn't spoken. "I just want you to let yourself be happy. You _deserve_ it. I just wish you understood that."

Despite everything they'd been through in the past, and his current irritation at her spying, Harry had never loved Ginny more than he did in that moment. He shifted slightly in her embrace and wrapped his arms around her tightly in return. 

They remained like that for a moment, just holding each other in silence – no words necessary – until finally Harry spoke.

"If I _could_ choose," he murmured sadly.

Ginny made a choked sounding noise that was lost somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "Don't." She shook her head slightly.

"It _would_ be you," Harry continued, ignoring he request. "Always." And he pressed a tender kiss to her temple.

Ginny pulled back with a shaky laugh. "Idiot." She wiped hurriedly at suspiciously bright eyes.

"Gin." Harry's voice was soft and low – he meant every word and it was important to him that she know that.

"I know, you big sap." Ginny gave him a playful push and then her smile widened. "So tell me, while you're in the mood for confessions, what d'you think of _Malfoy's_ arse?"

~~~

Draco couldn't concentrate.

Try as he might, he could not make the strings of numbers fix in his brain with the ease he usually did – at this rate he would slip very firmly out of Professor Vector's good graces.

It wasn't that the work was especially hard – Draco had read the set texts for all his subjects this term before even setting foot on the Hogwarts Express, and Arithmancy had always been one of his best subjects.

He didn't have things on his mind, worries that would distract him, and his preferred location in the library was as peaceful as always.

No, Draco's distraction as always took on a definitely corporeal form.

Ever since that first evening, which Draco had written off as a fluke, something never to be repeated, he was never alone at his table for more than a few minutes before Potter arrived. Not that Potter was distracting Draco with ceaseless chatter – they merely passed pleasantries and then both settled down to their tasks at hand.

Yet whilst Potter seemed instantly to lose himself in his work, Draco's mind seemed unable to focus on anything other than his _company_.

As another string of arithmantic equations entered his brain by one ear and exited just as quickly through the other, Draco decided enough was enough. Something was going on with Potter, Draco was sure of that much, and he was determined to have answers before either of them left the library that night. 

He laid his quill down atop his parchment, clasped his hands together on the desk's careworn surface, and leant forward slightly.

"Potter."

With a mind to the library's other occupants, and with no desire to be overheard, Draco kept his voice low. Too low, it seemed, because Potter continued to scratch away at his homework, oblivious to Draco's attention.

"Potter." Draco hated to repeat himself, so he added a _gentle_ kick for good measure.

"Malfoy, what the…" Potter's attention was all Draco's now, but still the fire of old was absent. "What was that for?" Potter sounded petulant, almost childlike, and Draco could have sworn he saw a faint hint of a pout. But then Potter was too busy staring despondently at the giant ink blot on his work.

Draco shook his head and made a strange sort of clucking noise with his tongue. He did, however, manage to hold back a disparaging remark about _Muggles_ as he stretched out with his wand and neatly siphoned the dark liquid of the parchment.

For a moment Potter smiled at Draco gratefully, but then his brow furrowed. "You _kicked_ me."

He sounded so much closer to petulance than the outrage there should have been that Draco couldn't help but smile. "I did," he agreed.

The outright admission of guilt seemed to wrong foot Potter for a moment, because he just gaped.

"It's rude to stare, Potter," Draco commented after a few moments had passed.

"I'm fairly sure kicking's not considered polite either, but you didn't let that stop _you_."

"Touché." Draco felt his smile widen involuntarily – Potter appeared to be teasing. "But _I_ was provoked."

"Really?" Potter let out a disbelieving huff. "By what, exactly?"

"Your presence," Draco shot back before he had time to analyse his words.

Potter's smile froze immediately before fading into a strangely blank expression. He began scooping his belongings tighter. "If you wanted me to leave, you only had to say so." Potter scraped back his chair in his haste to exit, but Draco was quicker.

"Wait!" He was up and out of his own chair in an instant and reached forward to grab Potter's arm. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Really?" Potter sounded a long way from being convinced. "Because it sounded like that was _exactly_ what you meant." His gaze dropped to where Draco's fingers had curled around his wrist, and then quickly back up to Draco's face.

Draco, however, had no intention of letting go. He saw something familiar in the stubborn set of Potter's jaw that both thrilled and concerned him in equal measure. "I don't want you to go," he said finally, having had to fight several deep-seated instincts to get the words out.  
Potter's eyes widened and flickered with some emotion that was too quick for Draco to name. He opened his mouth to reply, but before he could—

"Harry, there you…oh!" Granger bustled around the corner, the pre-requisite stack of books in her clutches.

Draco saw the moment her gaze fell on him, how her words dried up and her eyes narrowed slightly. It was swiftly followed by a dull red flush that crept its way up her neck as she stared unashamedly at Draco's fingers wrapped around Potter's bare wrist.

It was clear to what conclusion her mind had leapt, and for a brief moment Draco was tempted to toy with her, to raise Potter's hand to his lips or something, just to watch her world implode. But he swiftly realised that was one way to may sure he was never troubled with Potter's presence again.

"Hermione!" It was also clear from the way Potter tugged his hand away that _he_ knew what Granger was thinking. "It's not—"

"It's okay, Harry, you don't have to explain anything to me."

Which was quite laughable, Draco thought, when her expression clearly said otherwise.

"But we—"

"It's fine, honestly."

The irritation at being constantly interrupted was plain on Potter's face, yet Granger seemed immune. Mainly, Draco supposed, because it was an expression she was so used to seeing.

Granger clasped the books tighter against her chest and gave Draco a thoughtful look – one which he returned with interest.

"I'll catch up with you later," she said after an awkward pause, and Draco couldn't help but smirk because the implied threat behind her words was obvious, and judging from the poorly concealed wince, even Potter realised it.

Granger turned on her heel to leave then, but Draco had barely heaved a sigh of relief before she stopped. "Oh, Harry, you should know, Ron's looking for you as well. Something about a game of chess."

There was an awkward silence between the two of them as the sound of Granger's retreating footsteps echoed away. Potter made no effort to unpack his belongings or retake his seat, but neither did he bolt for the nearest exit – which was something, Draco supposed.

But silence had never been Draco's strong point, and as it seemed to stretch out ahead of him with no discernable end in sight, he cracked.

"You do realise that she thinks we're…" Draco gestured vaguely with his hand, suddenly unwilling to give voice to the thought that had amused him so greatly only moments ago.

"Fucking?" And damn if Draco didn't feel a slight thrill run through him at the sound of that word leaving Potter's mouth. "Yes, Malfoy, I had managed to figure that much out for myself."

"And yet you seem strangely unperturbed by it." Draco frowned as this occurred to him. Surely Potter should be horrified – not just because Draco was male, but because he was a Slytherin, and worse still, a Malfoy.

Potter simply shrugged. "It could be worse."

Draco arched one brow. "Really?" he asked, tone sceptical at best. "How?"

"Normally rumours have me down as some kind of crazed killer," Potter replied matter-of-factly. "If me having a boyfriend is the worst thing anyone can come up with, well, like I said, it could be worse."

Yet again Draco found himself struck dumb by the difference in Potter. Draco knew from experience that surviving a war changed people – himself more than most – but for some reason he had expected Potter to remain unaffected. The little, and oft ignored voice in the back of his mind – the one that sounded suspiciously like a smug version of Pansy – suggested that perhaps Potter had always been this way, and it was only now that Draco was allowing himself to appreciate it.

"I should get going."

Draco gave himself a slight mental shake, just in time for him to realise that Potter was shouldering his bag with intent to leave.

"You don't have to," he said quickly, in part because he still wanted answers, but also because he was just plain intrigued. "I really didn't mean it the way it sounded."

Potter allowed a small smile to curve his lips. "I know. But I really should make myself scarce – Ron's like a bloodhound when he gets going. Potter paused here and Draco could have sworn that he smirked. "Unless…did you _want_ to hang out with him?"

The horror in Draco's eyes was only a little bit faked. "Potter, I suggest you leave now before I am forced to kick you again."

Potter's face broke into a broad grin. "We can't have that, can we?" He gave a brief chuckle, a sound which was both foreign and pleasing to Draco's ears. "I'll see you tomorrow, Malfoy."

With that, Potter turned and left, and it was several moments before Draco shook the smile off his own face and settled down to work again.

~~~

Once again Harry found himself leaving Malfoy in the library and heading back to Gryffindor tower with speed. He was fairly sure that Hermione's story about Ron had been nothing more than a ruse, her way of gently prodding him to return with haste and satisfy her insatiable curiosity, but he wasn't about to chance it.

The trick with Hermione was to get it over and done with quickly – like ripping off a plaster. The longer you left it, the more time she had to expound on her theories, and the more questions she came up with – if he didn't head her off quickly, Harry knew all his secrets would be laid bare before the night was out. And that was something he'd really rather avoid if at all possible.

 

Harry was more than a little intrigued at the path Hermione's brain had obviously taken – as Malfoy had helpfully pointed out, she obviously thought something was going on between them, but why this should be when, as far as Harry knew, Hermione was in complete ignorance of his latent discoveries, he didn't know. What Harry did know, however, was that he was reacting to this development with surprising calm.

Ginny was the only person he'd voiced his worries too, and Harry had no doubt that she'd kept his counsel. Since their last chat, Harry had been working hard to figure out not just who he was, but also on learning to accept it – and on current evidence he seemed to be doing quite well. In the end, Harry had decided not to over think things – he liked who he liked, regardless of their gender. As the _Saviour_ , _The Boy Who Lived_ and the newly crowned _Vanquisher of Voldemort_ , he was in no hurry to attach any more labels to himself. 

Plus, the fact that it had also clearly thrown Malfoy out of kilter didn't hurt.

As expected, Hermione was in the common room when Harry arrived. She had seated herself on a small sofa over by one of the windows – usually these seats were highly prized, but one look at Hermione, her pile of books, and the serious frown on her face, had obviously been more than enough to put off even the most intrepid of Gryffindors.

But on closer inspection, she appeared to be flicking through the pages without any real attention to the words marked upon them. Harry couldn't help but smile – it wasn't often Hermione was that rattled; even the Horcrux hunt didn't distract her from her beloved books for long.

There was no sign of Ron anywhere at the moment, and Harry couldn't help but give the tiniest sigh of relief – not that he wanted to avoid his best friends, but because some conversations just went that bit smoother without a certain redhead's presence. And while Harry was fairly sure he could handle Hermione's reaction to recent developments, he was in no way ready for Ron's. Especially when he didn't have answers to most of the questions that Ron would doubtless have.

Hermione looked up, the corners of her lips tilted in the smallest of smiles. "Don't worry, Ginny lured Ron off with the promise of Quidditch practice." She paused here and eyed Harry speculatively. "She seemed most concerned that he didn't bother you."

Unable to think of an appropriate response that wouldn't earn him a lecture, Harry made a non-committal noise – neither Ron nor Hermione liked it when they weren't the first to know about developments in his life. 

Hermione's gaze narrowed briefly, but before Harry had chance to respond to the accusations it held, she returned her attention to the book spread across her lap. Momentarily confused by this turn of events, he opted to take the seat at her side and wait.

When the passing seconds became minutes, Harry could bear it no longer. "Well?" he asked, hoping the verbal prod would be enough to get her started.

"Well _what_?" Hermione never even raised her gaze.

"Aren't you going to say anything about Malfoy?"

Hermione looked up at last, her expression calm and unfazed. "Harry," she began patiently, as if speaking to a small child, "you don't like it when I question your actions; I'm just respecting your wishes."

Eight years of friendship _and_ the look on her face told Harry he was being manipulated, but Hermione was an expert in her field and he was sucked in nonetheless. "Nothing's going on."

Hermione turned once again to her book and flipped slowly at the pages. "Okay."

Harry raked one hand through his hair distractedly – a tell tale sign of his frustration. "He just grabbed my wrist to stop me leaving."

"I see." Hermione's tone was disinterested at best.

Harry cast a wary look around the common room before continuing. "It's not like we're boyfriends or anything," he muttered, quieter this time.

"That's nice." Hermione pulled a quill from her bag and began making notes in the book's margin.

"I'm not even sure we're friends," Harry continued, and it was more like he was thinking out loud now, rather than simply trying to convince Hermione. "Acquaintances, maybe."

"Hmmm." Hermione tucked a stray curl behind her ear, but her attention remained fixed on the book.

"Malfoy's not even gay!" Harry blurted the words out before his brain had the chance to process the implications. But he wasn't used to Hermione responding in such a manner, and manipulation or not, it had him rattled. 

Of course, _that_ was sufficient to gain her attention. 

Harry flushed and squirmed under the slow assessing gaze that Hermione gave him. She remained silent, but it was obvious from her expression what her question was.

Harry looked away. Choosing instead to concentrate on his hands as they fiddled with the cuffs of his jumper, rather than face his best friend. Even though he knew Hermione better than anyone else, there was still a small part of Harry that feared her reaction. " _I_ might be," he admitted, voice so soft he could barely hear it himself. "A little bit."

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, Harry." There followed a dull thud as Hermione closed the book – Harry had her full attention now.

He looked up reluctantly. "I know."

"Do you?" Hermione reached out and took hold of one of his hands, effectively stilling it. "Because you don't sound so sure."

Harry shrugged. "It's just taking a little bit of getting used to, and admitting it out loud is…" His words tailed off here for a moment and Harry raked fingers through his hair once again. "You've taken it well, though," he added, a slightly sheepish smile on his face.

"What did you _expect_ me to do? Turn bright red and explode? I'm not Ron, you know."

Harry blanched slightly at the implication of Hermione's joke. "You don’t' think he really will, do you?"

Hermione smiled and gave a slight shake of her head. "No, I don't. Not about the gay part anyway. The bit about Malfoy, on the other hand…"

"I told you there's nothing going on." But Harry laughed despite himself.

"He was practically holding your hand, Harry. You don't normally like people touching you."

"That's not true," Harry replied defensively, but the words rang a little truer than he felt comfortable with, and even the pointed look he gave at her hand on his didn't eradicate the feeling.

"People you're close to, yes." Hermione gave his hand a meaningful squeeze. "But it took a long time for you to get to that stage, and you _said_ you and Malfoy were just acquaintances."

The truth of her words was undeniable, and Harry had no way to refute them. So he took refuge in repetition. "There's nothing going on."

"But you'd like there to be."

Hermione clearly wasn't asking a question – her tone implied she considered this a statement of fact, and Harry silently cursed Ginny for the mental images of Malfoy's arse that his brain suddenly supplied.

"I barely know him," he answered stubbornly.

"That's not true," Hermione said firmly. "You've been watching him for years."

"You make me sound like some obsessive stalker." Even as he spoke, Harry had to force back the memories of sixth year.

"I don't know about the stalker part," Hermione began with a grin, "but I always did wonder how deep the obsession went between you two. You know what they say about pulling pigtails."

"Malfoy doesn't have pigtails." Harry knew exactly what they said, and what Hermione was implying, but he had no intention of making it easy for her.

Hermione just grinned. "No," she agreed, releasing Harry's hand and patting his knee instead. "But he does have rather a nice arse, doesn't he."

"Hermione!" It took a few seconds for her words to register in Harry's brain, but when they did, he found them even more disturbing from her than Ginny. 

Hermione just got to her feet, grin still firmly in place. "Don't pretend like you haven't noticed." She turned to leave then, only to make it a few short yards before coming to a halt and turning back. "Oh, and Harry, just so you know, Malfoy definitely _is_ "

~~~

Pansy had impeccable timing – Draco had to give her that. Or at least he would have, had he not been so busy cursing her name under his breath.

He forced a smile onto his face and hoped that he and Astoria were still little acquainted enough for her to believe it genuine. It worked apparently, because she leant forward as if intent on kissing him, or at best hugging – neither option was particularly pleasing to Draco at the best of times, and certainly not now, when he could see Pansy bearing down upon him, her face twisted with suspicion, or accusation, or something else that meant an equally unpleasant near future for him.

To forestall the problem, Draco took hold of Astoria's hand, and with his free one, gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder. If she was in anyway surprised by this avoidance, Astoria's pureblood training kicked in sufficiently to hide it.

"Goodnight, Draco," was all she offered in reply, before heading off in the direction of the girls' dormitories.

Pansy turned her head slightly and watched Astoria leave. But if Draco had been under any delusions that he'd averted the looming confrontation, the piercing look in Pansy's dark eyes when she turned back shattered them quick smart.

Without any words on either of their parts, Draco automatically stepped back to admit Pansy as she strode purposefully into his room. He followed her in with an air of resignation – it was at moment's like this when Draco felt a kinship with Potter, as he was reminded vividly that Potter was not the only one who suffered from an overbearing best friend.

"I didn't think she was your type," Pansy commented, her tone held a lightness that Draco was not remotely fooled by.

"It is possible for someone to be friends with a member of the opposite sex _without_ wanting to get into their knickers, you know." Draco attempted a matching level of lightness in his voice, but even to his own ears he could hear failure.

Pansy's gaze fixed on him then, narrowed slightly. "Oh, believe me, I _know_ that."

There was just the faintest hint of bitterness present, a hint of something Draco had hoped they were long past, or at least had a mutual understanding never to refer to again. "Pansy, I don't wa—"

"Never mind." Pansy silenced him with a wave of her hand. "This isn't about us."

"Then what?" 

"I'm not sure," Pansy admitted, her tone thoughtful. "I came to talk to you about Hogsmeade, but then there was that," she gestured vaguely in the direction Astoria had gone, "and I can tell you're hiding something."

Draco bristled. "I really don’t think—"

"Draco, you're an appalling liar. You get this shifty look in your eyes, _and_ you fidget with your cuffs."

Draco glanced down and scowled at his offending fingers, but before he could rebut Pansy's accusations, he saw she had all the evidence she needed right there in her hands. "That's private," he snapped, and reached out to snag the letter from Pansy's hands.

She always had been too quick for him. One _Petrificus Totallus_ later, and Draco was forced to watch, frozen by both magic and horror, as his best friend read all about the one thing he had hoped to keep hidden from her for as long as humanly possible.

Letter finished, Pansy sank down onto the nearest bed and slowly raised her wand to cast the counter charm. Before Draco could voice his anger at the perceived violation, she looked up at him, sadness evident in her eyes. "You're not seriously considering this?"

"That," Draco snapped as he snatched the crumpled parchment from her hand, "is none of your business. This is a private matter and you had _no_ right reading it."

Pansy appeared unmoved by his anger – clearly sixteen years of friendship had rendered her immune to it. She turned her gaze once again to the offending letter. "Lucius is mad," she stated baldly.

"He's my father." Despite the failings he had been forced by the war to acknowledge, Draco still afforded his father the respect due to that role. 

"So?" Pansy's tone was incredulous now. "That doesn't mean he knows what's best. Look where following him got you last time." Pansy reached out, and before Draco could pull away, she had tugged the sleeve of his jumper back, laying bare the faded Dark Mark.

Draco pulled his arm back sharply as if burnt. He focused his eyes everywhere except for the one reminder of his past he still struggled to acknowledge. "I have a responsibility to my family." Draco turned his back to Pansy, unable to face the pity he knew would be visible in her face.

"And they have one to you." Pansy got to her feet and placed a hand firmly on Draco's shoulder, turning him. "You've spent the last few years miserable and scared because of family expectations, and now you're going to let them ruin the rest of your life."

Draco stepped away and waged a brief internal battle to keep all signs of emotion from his face. "Astoria's not so bad. She's well-bred, even-tempered, and she comes from good stock. You can trace the Greengrass line back to before _The Burning Times_."

"Would you listen to yourself?"Pansy demanded. "You sound like you're planning to buy a horse, not marry the love of your life."

Draco snorted disparagingly. "Now you're just being ridiculous."

"Am I?"

"Yes." Draco gave up all effort at pretence and looked Pansy firmly in the eye. "We both know she's hardly the love of my life. But _you_ won't hear of it, and the Zabinis have already beaten us to Daphne, which leaves Astoria as the next best thing."

"Charming." Pansy gave a little shake of her head. "And damn right I won't marry you. The last thing I want in a husband is completion for the gardener's attentions."

Draco laughed. He couldn't help it. It was moments like this that reminded him why he loved Pansy so much. Why there was a small part of him that wished he _could_ chose, because sex notwithstanding, there was no one he would rather spend the rest of his life with.

"Besides," Pansy continued blithely, "You know Lucius would never hear of it. My name's worth about as much as yours is right now – there'd be nothing for him to gain from it."

"Pans—"

"No. Look, I know he's your father and you love him regardless, but don't expect me to wear your rose-tinted spectacles every time his name crops up. I'll never forgive him for _this_." Pansy laid her hand over Draco's left forearm to illustrate her point.

"I really do love you, you know." Draco knew his smile betrayed more emotion than he usually cared to display, but this was him and Pansy, and he couldn't have helped it if he'd tried.

Pansy grinned in return. "Of course you do. But you don't want to _shag_ me, and that's a pretty important part of marriage by anyone's standards."

"Hussy."

"Given half a chance," and Pansy winked this time.

Draco shook his head but laughed in spite of it. "We'll just have to find someone who's worthy of you."

Pansy gave Draco a look that told him the discussion was not over by a long shot, but she allowed the change of conversation nonetheless. "I'd have thought you'd be a bit busy with your new beau to have time matchmaking for me."

Draco's brown wrinkled in confusion. "Who? Astoria? Because I thought you understood—"

"No, no, not her." Pansy gave a dismissive wave of her hand. I meant Potter. I had a most interesting conversation with the female Weasley earlier."

Draco raised one brow in surprise. "We study together; that's it. Don't get excited, it's not like I'm screwing him over a library table."

"If only." Pansy sighed as she pressed one hand to her chest.

"Pansy!"

"Oh, come on, you're hot and you know it. And Potter's grown rather nicely this last year as well. You two getting it on would pull a bigger crowd than a Weird Sisters' concert."

Draco tried very hard not to think about the level of thought Pansy clearly gave to his sex life, and instead addressed another problem with her statement. "I think your more Potter's type than I am."

"I wouldn't bet on that," Pansy replied – she clearly meant to imply that she knew something more than Draco did, but he refused to bite.

"Anyway, what are you doing looking at Potter like that?"

Pansy shrugged. "I have eyes."

So did Draco, and he rolled them. "Next you'll be telling me you think the Weasel's fit."

"Well, he has got quite the body on him these days. Did you see his chest in that t-shirt at breakfast?"

"Out," Draco exclaimed in almost mock horror. He placed his hands on Pansy's shoulders and steered her towards the door. "I will not have my ears subjected to such trauma, and in my own room too!"

"I do think you're protesting rather too much, darling," Pansy teased in return, but she made no effort to resist.

Draco swore he could still hear her cackle of laughter even after the door had been firmly closed, but rather than focus on that, he turned both his attention _and_ his wand to the abandoned letter, and with a quick _Incendio_ , he watched in satisfaction as it burned.

After all, he had months before he had to worry about any of that.

~~~

Draco spent a lot of his time now coming up with new and interesting ways to torture Pansy. Not that he really planned to put them into effect, but it made him feel much better, especially after he realised he was also spending a similar amount of time watching Potter appraisingly.

It's entirely Pansy's fault, putting ideas into his head like that. And though Draco still had questions about Potter, they were more of the _what does he look like with his shirt off_ variety, than they were anything to do with his new-found study habits.

"Bloody Pansy."

Draco muttered the words under his breath. He had no desire for his companion to overhear, or indeed ask any incredibly awkward questions that Draco would _not_ be able to answer. Plus, right at that moment Potter was lost in concentration, and Draco had a newfound appreciation for the way the pink tip of his tongue poked between his lips at such times, and he was loathe to disturb it.

Only sometimes Draco found that he _appreciated_ Potter a little too much. And whilst the thought of Professor McGonagall's tartan bloomers could usually be relied upon to induce the taste of bile in his mouth, it was also a particularly effective way of lessening the tightness of his trousers.

But then thoughts of tight trousers when he was in such close proximity to Potter usually proved to be counterproductive, and Draco found himself doomed to a future in which Scottish old lady knickers featured rather prominently.

Of course, his mind being occupied so heavily in other areas meant that Draco was far less focussed on more trivial matters – his homework, for instance. A little too much pressure in a moment of distraction – and really, when Potter licked his lips like that, it was only to be expected – and the sharp crack of Draco's quill snapping filled the air around them.

Muttering heavily under his breath, and trying his damndest _not_ to notice the faint smile on Potter's face as he watched, Draco reached for his potions knife and set about shaping his quill into something resembling a point again. 

But it clearly wasn't his day. Potter – the evil bastard – chose that particular moment to stretch, and Draco was unable to resist sneaking a quick glance at the sliver of warm skin it revealed.

"Bugger!"

That brief distraction was all it took, and Draco saw before he felt the deep cut along his index finger. Glistening beads of red were already visible and Draco tensed in the anticipation of pain – he'd never been any good at handling that; something that had not improved even with greater experience. 

He raised his hand to his mouth, but before the first coppery tang hit his taste buds, Potter had reached out and taken hold of it with his own.

"Here," Potter murmured quietly. "Let me." His voice was soft, and his attention focussed solely on Draco's hand, which he now cradled as if it were something precious.

Draco squirmed slightly in his seat – a mixture of discomfort at his wound and at the knowledge that not even McGonagall's underwear could help him this time.

Potter reached for his wand and aimed it deliberately at Draco's hand – and for the briefest moment, Draco couldn't help but think of the last time he'd been on the receiving end of it. But then Potter was murmuring softly, a gentle cadence of words unlike the typical healing spells Draco was familiar with, and he could see the cut vanish before his eyes.

Not that instantaneous healing was anything particularly surprising in a world of magic, but the fact that it was Potter who was doing it, and that he had and still did hold Draco's hand carefully with his own was more than a little unexpected.

"Thank you." The words fell from Draco's lips surprisingly easily, without any aforethought, and reluctantly he pulled his hand away from Potter's touch. Potter's hand, it seemed, had other ideas, and promptly followed Draco's across the table. 

Before Draco had time to process, wonder at, or even question Potter's actions, he felt the gentle swipe of a thumb along his bottom lip – not even McGonagall _sans_ underwear could help him then. 

"What…" His voice croaked embarrassingly, but that was all Draco could manage.

Potter gave a sheepish smile, which really didn't help matters, and inspected his thumb. "You had a bit of blood there," he said, and his words were swiftly followed by a gentle flush of pink across his cheeks.

Draco's problem was irretrievable now. He was hard enough to hammer nails, and there was no conceivable way he could move from his seat without the evidence being clearly visible to its cause. And whilst Draco might have begun harbouring thoughts of a more impure nature about Potter, he had no intention of letting _him_ know that anytime soon.

Draco shifted in his seat and mentally cursed that summer's growth spurt which had left his trousers with little or no room to spare. "I never knew you were such a budding Healer, Potter."

Potter simply shrugged, and the flush became more visible. Draco could see where it disappeared under the crisp collar of Potter's shirt, and couldn't help but wonder just _how_ far down it went.

"I spent the best part of a year in a tent with Hermione – I picked up a few things."

With a Herculean effort Draco held back every sarcastic comment or smutty innuendo that immediately sprang to mind. It was a terrible shame he mused, because some of them were really rather good, but it hardly seemed the way to show his gratitude. So instead he turned his attention to the newly-healed skin, which shone pink against the otherwise pale backdrop of his hand. 

"You did a good job," he acknowledged, and was surprised to find just how unbegrudgingly the words came out.

Potter shrugged again, and this time fidgeted slightly with the cuffs of his jumper – it flew in the face of all of Draco's pre-conceived ideas, but clearly he was uncomfortable with the attention, so for once in their tumultuous history, Draco took pity on him and changed the subject.

"So, Hogsmeade next weekend," he said causally. "Are you going?" And then because he realised with horror that it sounded almost like he was planning to ask Potter on a date, Draco added hurriedly, "I have to put up with Pansy nagging at me all day about Millicent – no one else will put up with her." It was a little uncharitable – if not untrue – and Draco sent a silent apology to his best friend for the remark. 

If he'd had any thoughts about what Draco's question meant, Potter didn't show them. He just let out a wry chuckle. "It can't be any worse than listening to Ron bang on about how Hermione has abandoned us."

"But I thought he was the one who broke up with her?" Draco's brow creased a little in confusion. "Or at least, that's what Pansy was saying. She's a terrible gossip, that girl." Draco finished up with a nervous laugh of his own – he had no desire for Potter to know just how much the goings on in Gryffindor Tower featured in his daily conversations.

"He was," Potter replied, and if he harboured suspicions about just _who_ the gossip was, they went unmentioned. "I think it's just a bad case of 'dog in a manger' syndrome."

Draco's frown became even more pronounced. "What?"

Potter gave a quick frown of his own before his expression cleared and a smile took its place. "Oh sorry, it's a Muggle thing. It's just basically a way of saying someone doesn't want something, but they don't want anyone else to have it either."

"Ahh, you mean like Granger and Boot?" Clearly the rest of the Golden Trio weren't quite so in the dark about Granger's activities, Draco mused.

"Terry? And _Hermione_?"

Or maybe they were.

"Just a rumour," Draco replied quickly – he had no desire to upset Potter, and even less desire to raise Granger's ire. His cheek tingled at the bare thought. "So, about Hogsmeade," Draco continued quickly, unwilling to let Potter dwell on the topic. "Maybe I'll catch you in the _Three Broomsticks_ at some point? I'm sure we'll both be in need of some decent company by then."

"I'd like that." Potter's smile was like a _Lumos_ at night, and Draco couldn't help but bask in its reflected glow for just a moment. "Ron might not be so keen, though."

Draco snorted. It was most undignified, he knew, but he really couldn’t help it. "That's something of an understatement, I suspect. But I was rather hoping I could persuade Pansy to distract him with her _charms._

Potter's smile shifted into an all out grin. "That ought to work. At least for a little while. Ron is rather partial to girls' _charms_ "

And as Draco had noticed on more than one occasion that Weasley's eyes fixed significantly lower than Pansy's face, despite his professed dislike, he could attest to the truth of this.

Potter sat back in his chair, a happy smile on his face, and raked one hand through his perpetually messy hair. It took all of Draco's will power to resist the temptation to lean across the table and sweep away the one stray lock that fell forward into his eyes – but he managed it. Just.

If he was to have any hope of making it out of the library without making a fool of himself, or worse, giving Potter room to suspect his motives, then Draco realised he was going to have to focus on something else. Like the Potions homework which sat virtually untouched on the desk in front of him.

Slughorn might not focus his fawning quite so much on Potter and other non-Slytherins this year, but he was still by no means as partisan as Snape had been. Draco knew he was having to work twice as hard for grades that he actually _deserved_. It was especially unfair considering Slughorn was his own Head of House – but in his more honest moments, Draco was prepared to admit that it was probably just desserts for all the years the other houses had suffered under Snape. 

And also, the fact that Draco was now getting to see firsthand the effort Potter really was putting in to his work, he no longer resented Slughorn's occasional gushing outburst quite so much.

Allowing himself one last glance at Potter, who was now focussed on his own work, with barely a ghost of a smile on his lips, Draco gave himself a mental shake and picked up a new quill.

~~~

"What the hell is wrong with you?" 

Harry paused, spoon full of porridge halfway between table and mouth, and frowned at Ron. "Nothing. Why?"

"Nothing?" Ron shook his head and crammed another bite of sausage in his mouth. "You've been grinning like an idiot for the last three days, and you just smiled at Malfoy. _Malfoy_ , Harry!"

Harry shovelled the porridge into his mouth quick-smart in an effort to buy a little breathing space. It wasn't that he intended for Ron _never_ to find out about his budding friendship with Malfoy, it was just that he'd rather put it off for a while. Like until after NEWTs or something – by which time Ron would be far more focussed on Harry's failure to join him in the Aurors to worry about something as trivial as Malfoy.

Whilst he made hard work of swallowing, Harry let his gaze flicker over to the Slytherin table – Malfoy's hair stood out like a beacon amidst the drab light of a Scottish winter morning. The subject of Harry's scrutiny was far too busy selecting his breakfast with an expert air to pay attention – Parkinson, on the other hand, was not so occupied. She spotted Harry's fleeting glance, and returned it with a wink of her own.

Harry flushed. He couldn’t help it. And caught between a rock and a rather hard place, he turned his attention back to Ron. Swallowing hard, he gave a shrug. "War's over," he muttered. "And we're not kids anymore."

Hermione looked on with an air of approval at his words, Ginny's expression bore a disturbing resemblance to the one on Pansy Parkinson's face moments earlier, and Ron just gaped at him as if a second head had suddenly sprouted out of his neck.

"Are you mad?" Seemingly Ron's incredulity did nothing to spoil his appetite, as he savagely speared another sausage from the platter. "It's Malfoy!"

"I know, Ron. But he's not so bad." Harry winced internally even as he said the words and braced himself for the ensuing explosion. Newly-crowned war hero or not, Neville had already slid several feet down the bench to avoid being caught in the blast.

But it never came.

Ron continued to stare at Harry for what felt like the longest time – there was neither anger nor shock on his face; his expression was surprisingly blank.

"Ron?" Harry spoke tentatively before flashing a concerned look at Hermione. 

She only shrugged in return, and Ron remained unresponsive. So Harry turned his look on Ginny. Clearly seventeen years as the younger sibling had attuned Ginny far more to her brother's moods – she promptly reached across the table, fork in hand, and Ron's sausage in her sights.

That did the trick. Ron snapped out of his daze instantly and sharply batted her hand away. "Don't even think about it."

Harry let out a laugh that was almost relief – for one worrying moment he'd thought the news of his friendship with Malfoy had sent his best friend catatonic.

"You're still with us then?" Hermione asked, and she fixed a shrewd gaze on Ron from over the top of her goblet.

"I could say the same to you," Ron retorted instantly. "Isn't it about time you disappeared off somewhere on _important_ Head Girl business. After all, _ow!_." Ron's words came to a halt with that cry and he turned a glare on his sister. "You kicked me," he accused.

If Ron had expected remorse, he was to be sorely disappointed. Ginny simply grinned and gave a brief nod. "Yes, and I'll do it again if you don't stop being an arse. So Harry's friends with Malfoy – who cares? And yes, Hermione's sneaking around with Terry Boot and thinks we're all too dumb to notice, but that's hardly any concern of yours anymore, is it, Ronald?"

It was hard to tell whose splutter was the loudest, but all three members of the Golden Trio were staring at Ginny with varying degrees of shock and outrage on their faces. The youngest Weasley, however, remained unrepentant.

"You'd think after spending nearly a year in a tent together you three would have learned something about communicating with each other." Ginny got to her feet and turned her gaze over all three of her speechless friends. "You fought Death Eaters for Merlin's sake – how hard can it be to be honest with each other?" With that, and a toss of her long red locks, Ginny turned on her heel and strode from the Great Hall.

"Well," Harry said finally with a shaky laugh. "That told us."

"Didn't it just," Hermione agreed, sounding equally as discomforted.

" _You're shagging Terry Boot_?" Ron's strident cry could doubtless be heard in all four corners of the Hall and had already garnered them a fair few curious looks. Thankfully it was early in the morning and only a small number of fellow students were present, but Harry could tell from the excited gleams in a few pairs of eyes – most notably Seamus and Pansy Parkinson – that this particular juicy tit bit would not go unspread for long.

" _Ow!_ " Ron reached under the table to massage his much maligned limb. "Can everyone please stop kicking me today?"

"Be thankful that's all I did," Hermione snapped, and it was impossible to miss the red flush slowly creeping its way over her face. 

"How is this my fault?" Ron demanded incredulously. "You're the one—"

Ron's lips were still moving, but the sound ceased instantly. Harry turned to Hermione just in time to see the tip of her wand disappear up her sleeve. "Hermione."

"What?" Hermione remained entirely unrepentant. "Did you really _want_ to sit here and listen to him rant on for the next half an hour?"

Ron's face was an even brighter shade of red than his hair now, and he was gesturing wildly with his hands.

"I'll take off the spell if you can hold your tongue. This is _not_ the place." Hermione slid her wand back down her sleeve and watched Ron intently.

Ron appeared to take a deep breath, and then gave a sharp nod. Harry wasn't convinced, but obviously Hermione had seen something he hadn't, because she promptly cast the counter charm.

The expected continuing tirade never materialised. Ron simply got to his feet with an obvious attempt at dignity and nodded again at the both of them. Without further words he turned on his heel and made as if to leave the Hall. He didn't get many steps before he turned on heel and returned to the table. Harry looked up expectantly, but Ron's gaze was fixed on his plate.

"Almost forgot this," he said gruffly, and snagged the one remaining sausage from his breakfast. Then he was gone again.

Harry watched in surprise as Ron exited the room – that had really _not_ been the reaction he'd expected. But after a few moments, he gave himself a quick shake and turned his attention back to Hermione.

"So, Terry Boot?" he asked with a grin – it wasn't often he got to see her so discomfited.

"So, Malfoy?" Hermione returned with just a hint of defiance.

Harry laughed. "Fair enough," he said. "Think he'll be okay?" he asked, with a nod towards the main doors.

"Who, Ron?" Hermione turned her gaze towards the exit. "He'll be fine. Once he's blown off some steam. And if not…well, there's plenty more Silencing Charms where that one came from."

~~~

Whilst not necessarily a fan of the cold – it had a tendency to turn the tip of his nose pink – Draco couldn’t help but appreciate the aesthetic beauty of a crisp winter morning in Hogsmeade. Despite the low temperatures, the sun shone brightly in a clear blue sky, and it was still early enough in the day that the ground was coated with a fine dusting of frost.

Not even Pansy's ceaseless babbling about Millicent's latest _outrage_ was enough to disturb his peaceful disposition.

"Potter's over there, look." 

Before he could even think to stop himself, Draco turned his head in the direction Pansy's woollen-clad hand was pointing. There indeed was Potter, Gryffindor scarf wrapped snugly around his neck, and what looked like matching mittens on his hands. Not that Draco was looking that closely and he certainly _didn't_ find the look at all adorable.

"That's nice," he replied as disinterestedly as he could manage. One quick look at Pansy's expression told him she was _not_ fooled.

"You know," Pansy mused. "I'll say one thing for Muggles, those _jeans_ of theirs certainly do wonders for a nice arse."

"Pansy!" Draco spluttered slightly, but couldn't help but wonder how it was he was still remotely surprised by the things that came out of his best friend's mouth – Pansy thrived on being outrageous or controversial. Then he followed her gaze and realised it still rested on Potter and his companion, _and_ that Potter was not the one wearing the jeans in question. "A Weasley, Pansy? Really?"

Pansy shrugged. "So? When the arse is that nice, I don't care _who_ it belongs to."

Draco shook his head and smiled faintly. "Come on." He gave her a gentle nudge. "I want to go in here."

Pansy took one look at the _Honeydukes_ sign and rolled her eyes. "Now, there's a surprise."

Draco chose to ignore the sarcasm and simply pushed the door to enter. Even the tinkle of the door bell as it opened was enough to set Draco's taste buds tingling, never mind what the wonderful chocolately aromas did to his already-rumbling tummy.

Honeydukes wasn't his favourite shop for nothing, and within less than a minute of their entrance Draco had weaved his way through the crowded shop and was clutching several boxes of their finest chocolates. 

"They're not _all_ for me," he said promptly, as Pansy stepped up to his side. "These are for Mother, and this is for Aunt Andromeda."

Pansy looked over the stack in his hands and smiled. "So just the other three are yours then, right? You should be careful with those, Draco." She reached out and patted his waistline. "Wouldn't want those trousers getting any tighter, would we."

Draco wisely chose to ignore this dig, for now – but made a mental note to return the favour at a more opportune moment. Instead he turned his attention back to the display. "I suppose I should probably get something for Astoria. What do you think she'd like?"

"A straight husband," Pansy quipped instantly. "But it seems like they're all out of those."

Draco fixed Pansy with his best glare and was gratified to see her grin falter slightly. "Do _not_ start," he snapped. "Besides," he continued, turning his attention back to the confections on offer, "she knows how things stand."

Pansy was never repressed for long. "Does she? How can she, when no one but you, me, and a very pretty French boy know for sure where your tastes lie?"

Draco struggled hard to keep a reign on his rising temper – he didn't want to fall out with Pansy, not about that, and certainly not in the middle of Honeydukes. "She knows it's not a love match."

"True," Pansy agreed. "But I wouldn't mind betting money she expects it to develop into one. What's she going to say on your wedding night when you can't even get it up?"

It was a testament to just how much Draco wanted the floor to open up and swallow him right then, that he dropped his cherished treats on the nearest shelf and dragged Pansy almost forcibly from the shop. He didn't stop until they were outside, and safely situated away from prying eyes, down a conveniently located side alley.

Once satisfied they could not be over heard, Draco took a deep breath and turned on his friend. "Whilst I appreciate your concern for Astoria's well being, this is neither the time, nor any of your damn business."

Pansy didn't speak for a moment – she just glared pointedly at Draco's hand still gripping her arm until he took the hint and relinquished his hold. Then she turned to face him – her expression making it clear she was not fazed in the slightest by his actions.

"I couldn't give a toss about _her_ ," she said finally. "It's _you_ I worry about."

And despite his earlier anger, Draco couldn't find it within him to maintain it in the face of this obviously heartfelt statement. So he hugged her instead.

It was a brief, blink and you miss it, sort of action – neither of them were accustomed to, or comfortable with such outward displays of emotion. When they were both safely in their own personal space again, Draco cast a quick look around them.

Pansy laughed at this. "Don't worry, no one saw. You're cold, heartless bastard reputation is safe for now."

"Mine?" Draco asked, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I was thinking about yours."

~~~

"Did you hear that?" Harry rounded one of Honeydukes laden shelves and looked at Ron with wide eyes.

"What?" Ron mumbled, and flushed guilty at being caught with his mouth full.

But Harry was not Hermione and he wasn't about to chastise – besides he had other things on his mind, things that were currently settled like lead in the pit of his stomach. "Malfoy's getting married." 

Ron shrugged, then swallowed hard. "So?"

"But he's only our age," Harry pressed. "And it's an arranged marriage by the sounds of it."

Ron shrugged again. "It's not that unusual in the wizarding world – mum and dad were arranged. It's a pureblood tradition."

Harry's eyes widened in shock as he tried to digest this piece of information. "But it's so…" Harry could hear Hermione's voice in the back of his mind supplying him with various adjectives – he settled on "old-fashioned."

"I guess," Ron replied distractedly – his attention on the display of fudge in front. "It's dying out nowadays, but the more traditional purebloods – your Malfoys of this world – well, it's quite common amongst them."

"But why? Why would anyone want to force their child to marry someone they didn't love?" Harry really couldn't wrap his head around it – even his aunt and uncle, however much he'd disliked them, were obviously in love with each other.

Ron finally turned away from the display clutching a small, cellophane wrapped box tightly in his hands. "I imagine Malfoy's parents just want to make sure he gets himself a wife."

"I'm sure he could manage that without their help. It's not like he's ugly or anything."

Ron didn't say anything for a moment, he just watched Harry with one eyebrow raised in question. Then he gave himself a visible shake. "Didn't you hear what Parkinson said about him not getting it up?"

Harry flushed in spite of himself. "I don't want to hear about Malfoy's sex life."

Ron let out a dry chuckle. "Nor will his wife once she realises she won't be part of it.

Harry frowned and turned this statement over in his mind.

"He's a _poof_ , Harry," Ron explained, with just the slightest hint of irritation in his voice. "Bent. He likes taking it up—"

"Okay, I get the message," Harry cut him off hurriedly. "So why would he get married to a girl then?"

"I dunno. It's tradition, I suppose. Or to have kids? That's usually why most of them do it. Malfoy's the last of the line, unless he manages to produce Draco junior, and that won't happen any time soon with where he likes to put it."

"Charming." Harry shook his head, not quite able to keep the smile at Ron's bluntness off his face. "Let's get these paid for," he gestured at the numerous boxes they had between them, "and then we can head off to the Three Broomsticks for a drink."

Ron nodded his agreement and seemed only too happy to let the subject drop. Harry needed to take a few minutes to himself to process these revelations if he was to be any state to face Draco later. And for the first time since they'd agreed to meet up, Harry found himself thinking Draco Malfoy was the last person he wanted to see at that moment.

The fates, as per usual, were not on Harry's side. 

They entered the Three Broomsticks, snagged the last available table, and Ron had just returned with two large butterbeers when Harry spotted him. Not that it was hard. Malfoy's hair made him easily identifiable, and the Slytherin green of Pansy Parkinson's winter coat helped.

Harry was grateful he'd had the foresight to choose the seat facing the door – for once he felt that Ron would be better surprised, rather than giving him valuable seconds notice to work up a head of steam. 

They were at the table before Harry had managed to come up with a way of breaking the news to Ron. Malfoy hung back slightly, as if unsure of his welcome. Pansy appeared to have no such concerns.

"Budge up, Weasley."

Before Ron even had chance to comply, which he did in a state of shock, Pansy was already wriggling her way onto the bench beside him. Harry could feel Ron looking at him but he was far too busy scooting along to make room for Malfoy to pay attention at that point.

Once they were all seated, and very polite, but incredibly painful pleasantries had been passed, an uncomfortable air of silence descended over them.

"Well, isn't this cosy," Pansy commented finally. "And not at all awkward."

"Pans." Draco's tone held a warning note and he followed it up with a sharp look.

"She's got a point," Ron chipped in before turning his attention. "Harry?"

Harry knew what his friend was asking without him even having to say it - _what the fuck is going on_ was written all over Ron's face. The truth was an explanation that Harry – and, he was fairly sure, Ron – wasn't ready for yet. So instead he shrugged. "I thought it might be good if people saw us all together. You know, getting on, putting the past behind us?"

Ron remained silent for a moment and looked intently at everyone around the table. Not a moment too soon he nodded in acceptance and Harry let out a breath he had deliberately been holding.

"You know, you might just have a point there," Ron said finally, and not for the first time Harry was surprised by his best friend. Clearly this showed on his face, because Ron's eyes narrowed slightly. "What did you _expect_ me to do?"

Fortunately, before Harry was forced to answer what was a rather difficult question, Ginny appeared at the end of their table, all shiny red hair and smiles.

"Well, this is something you don't see every day." She turned her attention from Harry and Ron to their guests and nodded in acknowledgement. 

"Did you want something, Gin?" Harry could already see that Malfoy had tensed up slightly, and his ex-girlfriend's presence had formed no part of his plans.

"Just Ron," Ginny replied promptly.

"Me?" Ron put his drink down on the table with rather more force than necessary. "What did I do?"

Ginny laughed, as did Harry and their Slytherin companions. "Nothing as far as I know. Why, guilty conscience troubling you?"

"Stuff off," Ron muttered, and shot a familiar scowl in his sister's direction.

Ginny, as always, was unfazed. "I need you to come and help me chose Mum's Christmas present. You are still going in on it with me, aren't you?"

"I said so, didn't I?" Ron dug deep in his pocket and produced a pouch that jangled slightly. "Here y'are." He held it towards her, but Ginny took a step back, hands out in front of her. 

"Oh, no. Don't think you're just chucking some money at me and then leaving me to do all the hard work. You _know_ how hard Mum is to buy for, and I want to make sure that this year's present is really good."

Ron opened his mouth, seemingly to protest, just as Ginny played her ace. "It's been a crap year for all of us, but Mum in particular. The last thing I want to do is spoil her Christmas with a present she doesn't like. You have to come and help me choose it."

Harry knew Ginny well enough to know that she was playing her brother like a finely tuned instrument. Ron, it seemed, was not so attuned to his sister's wiles.

"Fine," Ron muttered, his reluctance obvious to all. He crammed the pouch back into his pocket, and then got to his feet with one last longing look at his drink.

"If you don't mind, I think I'll join you."

Pansy could have announced she was marrying a Muggle and it would have caused less shock. With the notable exception of Ginny, all other occupants of the table simply _gaped_.

Pansy chose – and wisely so, in Harry's opinion – to ignore it.

"I need to get Draco's present," she explained, matter-of-factly. "And I can't very well do that when he's tagging along behind me."

"And naturally she'll need some help to carry something of that size," Malfoy quipped, and then leant back in his seat with an air of smugness.

"I think you're confusing that with your ego, darling."

Pansy ignored Malfoy's spluttering and Ron's laughter. Nor did she notice the speculative glance that Ron shot in her direction – Harry did though, and made a mental note to question that when there were less spectators. Nor did he miss the sly wink that Ginny tipped at him – clearly the whole thing had been planned, but what baffled Harry was how in the name of Merlin she'd managed to convince Pansy Parkinson, of all people, to go along with it.,

"See you later, boys." Ginny tugged a bright, woolly hat firmly down over her ears.

"Yeah," Pansy chimed in. "Don't do anything we wouldn't."

Harry made a non-committal grunting sort of a noise in response, and was gratified when he turned back to Malfoy to see that his wasn't the only face currently awash with heat.

"Well, that went well – under the circumstances."

Malfoy nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Much better than I thought. Weasley appears to have matured," he added, with a faint nod in the direction Ron had just left in.

"Pansy, too," Harry offered, wanting to show he was as willing to make concessions.

Malfoy just grinned at that though. " _Pansy_ has ulterior motives."

Harry glanced quickly in the direction of the door, and then turned back with a frown marring his brow. "Really? Like what?"

"Weasley's arse." Malfoy's words were blunt and matter of fact, and were swiftly followed by the sound of Harry choking on his butterbeer.

" _What?_ "

Malfoy gave what appeared to be a sad nod. "I'm afraid so," he confirmed. "Oh, and his shoulders too, apparently."

"Pansy Parkinson likes _Ron_?" Harry's tone could be described as incredulous at best. 

"I'm not sure _like_ is the best word for it," Malfoy said, and then reached for his glass. "But I'm fairly sure the urge to shag him rotten was mentioned."

"Fuck!" Harry slumped back against the seat. "I didn't see _that_ coming."

"Neither will Pansy's parents. Still," Malfoy mused, "at least Weasley's a pureblood – that should placate them for a while, if nothing else."

"Is that why you're marring Astoria?" The words were out of Harry's mouth before he'd given them any real consideration, but while a large part of him wished he could reel them back in, there was a small part of him glad that he'd brought it up – it would only have festered otherwise.

Malfoy stilled, glass halfway to his mouth. "Who told you about that?" he asked carefully.

Harry flushed and squirmed a little in his seat. "We overheard you and Pansy in Honeydukes earlier," he admitted, and just hoped that Malfoy wouldn't think it deliberate.

Malfoy placed his glass gently back on the table and sat in silence for a moment, idly tracing one fingertip around the rim. "That's part of it," he admitted finally, much to Harry's surprise. Despite raising the subject, he hadn't honestly expected Malfoy to share. "Voldemort twisted pureblood ideals to suite his own insane ends, but not all of our traditions are bad."

"Just the ones that force you to marry someone you don't love." Once again the words left his mouth before his brain had chance to screen them.

"It's not that simple," Malfoy said, but he stubbornly refused to meet Harry's intense gaze.

"Really? Because I thought marriage was supposed to be about love."

"It can be both," Malfoy insisted. "My parents had an arranged marriage, and whatever else they may be, they do love each other."

Clearly Malfoy wasn't aware of just _how_ much he and Ron had overheard, but Harry's next words left him in no doubt. "But your parents are straight, though."

Malfoy looked up at this, his eyes darting nervously around the pub. "What are you talking about?" he demanded in sharp whisper.

"Malfoy, we heard you. It's nothing to be ashamed of." The irony of him saying these words, when only a few weeks before he was wrestling with the same dilemma himself was not lost on Harry.

"There is if it means the end of a bloodline, the death of a family name."

"But—"

"Leave it, please." There was a hint of almost pleading in Malfoy's voice that Harry didn't have it in him to ignore, however much he wanted to press his point home.

"I just want to understand," he said softly.

Malfoy rubbed wearily at his face. "Then ask Weasley. He was raised with the same traditions, much as he'd like to pretend he wasn't."

"I already did," Harry admitted sheepishly. "And he agreed with you."

Malfoy laughed. But it wasn't the genuine warm sound that Harry had come to appreciate over the last few months; it rang a little too hollow for that.

"Wonders will never cease," Malfoy said with an air of forced humour. "Now, let's not spoil today talking about that anymore." He paused here and reached for his drink. "Oh, I almost forgot." Malfoy turned to the side and began rummaging in his bag. "I got you something."

"You bought me a _present_?"

"You don't have to sound so sceptical, Potter. I can always take it back if you'd prefer."

"No, no," Harry said hurriedly, for fear of causing offence, and also because a large part of him was still that little boy in a cupboard who was never given anything. "I want it. Please."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Don't beg. It's not becoming." Then he held out his hand in which was a slim blue volume. "Here."

Harry reached out, quite unable to keep the broad grin off his face. He took the book as eagerly as good manners would allow and scanned the cover with speed. "It's a book on healing."

A familiar smirk settled on Malfoy's face. "See, Potter, all that studying you've been doing _has_ paid off. You can actually read now."

But Harry was paying little attention – he was too busy flipping his way through the clean, white pages, his eyes wide with wonder. "Thank you. This is…I mean…"

Malfoy waved his thanks away with a flick of his hand. "I just thought it might be useful," he said with a faint shrug. "You'll be in need of a new career path now that you've come to your senses about joining the Aurors, and I was most impressed with your _bedside manner_ the other day."

It was perfectly obvious from both his tone and the amusement in his eyes that Malfoy was teasing – but Harry couldn't stop himself from blushing nonetheless. He let his fingers skate over the textured leather surface of the book and then glanced at Malfoy. More than the fact Malfoy had bought him _something_ , it was the obvious thought behind it that meant so much to Harry. Added to the fact that Malfoy had hit upon the very career that Harry had been considering, and there was no way he could keep the silly grin from his face.

Today had been the best day he'd spent in a long time. Malfoy was definitely gay, he'd obviously been thinking about Harry outside of their usual library interactions, and, arranged marriage notwithstanding, Harry felt a flicker of hope that there might one day be something more.

~~~

"I blame you for this, you know."

Potter turned, bleary-eyed and obviously struggling to focus in the darkened room. "Huh?"

Draco nodded sharply in the direction of the corner opposite. Like most of the room it was wreathed in shadows, but even through the gloom of the Slytherin dungeons it was very easy to make out the path Ron's hand took as it slid underneath Pansy's _barely-there_ skirt.

"Me?" Potter gestured wildly, causing his drink to slosh precariously in his glass. "How is it my fault? You're the one who invited us. And anyway, you said you didn't care."

"Never said I didn't care." Draco reached for the bottle at his side and began refilling his glass. "Just said I wouldn't object."

"Semantics." Potter gave a dismissive wave of his hand and then continued to watch Weasley manhandle Draco's best friend.

Draco wasn't sure if he should be worried by Potter's level of interest in their friends' activities, but for now he chose to focus on something else. "Ooh, someone's been teaching Potty big words," he teased.

"I'm best friends with Hermione, Malfoy." Draco was sure that if Potter had been able to focus properly, he would have rolled his eyes here. "She doesn't let us eat dinner unless we can prove we learnt three new words that day."

Draco choked violently on his drink and could feel the beginnings of respect for Granger take shape. "Really?"

Harry laughed. "Nah, just kidding. Bet she'd like to, though."

"I'm sure," Draco agreed. "Maybe I should suggest it to her?"

"Don't you dare."

Draco found himself on the receiving end of a particularly sharp elbow dig – in the process of squirming away from it, he ended up wearing a large portion of his own drink. "Bloody hell, Potter." He began dabbing futilely at sodden wool of his jumper. "I'm soaking wet now."

"Maybe you should take it off."

Draco blinked once, then twice, but even after a third go he found he could no longer deny the expression on Potter's face showed clearly just how much he thought this was a brilliant idea.

"Potter." Draco started slowly, unable to believe the words that were about to leave his mouth. "Are you trying to flirt with me?

Draco expected many reactions to that question – laughter, anger, even outright denial – what he hadn't counted on was Potter looking up at him through those impossibly thick lashes of his and pulling the metaphorical rug from under Draco's feet.

"That depends." Potter's voice was low, almost husky, and Draco found himself leaning in closer despite his better judgement.

"On what?" Draco's brain was rather loudly suggesting just _how much_ of a bad idea this conversation was, but he was already on the slippery path, and Draco had every intention of seeing it through to the end.

"There were those bright green eyes peering up at him again. "Whether you want me to be or not."

Well, bugger.

To say Draco was stunned would have been like saying Hagrid was a _bit_ tall. "But you're straight," was the only coherent sentence he could manage to process.

"And yet somehow I'd like nothing more than to pull your jumper off and lick that drink from your skin."

Draco laughed. It came out high pitched and nervous-sounding to his own ears, but apparently Potter heard something entirely different.

With a flush that was visible even in the dimly lit room, Potter slid to the edge of the sofa and started to get up. Draco's hand shot out and took hold of his arm, even before he had time to think about his actions.

"You can't leave."

Potter seemed to look everywhere but at Draco. "Somehow I don't think Pansy will notice."

Draco slid his grip down potter's arm, until he was gently circling his wrist. "But _I_ will."

Potter sank back onto the sofa and turned a wide-eyed, hopeful gaze on Draco. "Really? Because—"

"Yes," Draco replied firmly.

If possible, Potter's eyes widened further, and he tentatively reached out for Draco's hand. "Can I…"

It took every last ounce of Draco's will power, but he managed to shake his head. "Not here," he muttered, casting a wary look around. Selective though Pansy may have been over the guest list for her party, there were still too many witnesses, and Draco did _not_ want this getting back to his parents. That he could say no, turn Potter down and walk away as if nothing had happened, did not even figure in Draco's list of possible outcomes.

Potter looked disappointed, which more than pampered Draco's ego, but then he too seemed to realise the number of potential spectators and nodded his agreement. He sank back in his seat with an air of resignation.

"I didn't mean no," Draco said hurriedly, seeing the opportunity slip away. "Just not here." He paused and scanned the room again. "We should be okay in the dorm. It doesn't look like either Blaise or Theo will be making it back tonight." And considering Blaise currently had his tongue down one of the Patil twins' throats, and Theo was passed out in a puddle of his own drool, Draco felt rather confident in this assertion.

Potter turned in Blaise's direction. "But I thought he was—"

"Ssh." Draco placed a finger over Potter's lips and tried his hardest not to focus on just how soft or warm they were. "Now, go through that door over there, up the steps, and then it's the last one right at the end."

Potter looked from the door to Draco and then back to the door again, and without further words he was gone. Draco tried to ignore the rather lewd part of his brain that was busy speculating if Potter would be as obedient in other areas.

Draco leant back against the sofa for a moment. He wanted to leave a short gap before he followed, but also found he needed a moment to calm a sudden burst of butterflies filling his tummy. Allowing his eyes to drift shut, Draco forced himself to take several deep breaths. They appeared to do the trick, and when Draco opened them again, it was to find Pansy grinning at him over the Weasel's shoulder.

Draco offered his best friend a two-fingered salute, then got to his feet and followed after Potter as quickly as his surprisingly shaky legs would allow him.

By the time Draco made it to his room, it was already lit with the soft glow from numerous candles, and Potter stood in the middle of the room, looking a little uncertain.

Before Draco had chance to speak, Potter nodded in the direction of the two unused beds. "Are they—"

Draco stepped forward and cut him off with a kiss. It was quick and hard, and it took more will power than Draco knew he had to pull away. "D'you really want to talk about furniture when we could be doing more of that?" he asked a little breathlessly.

Potter looked a little dazed and shook his head. "No," he said emphatically, and then suited his actions to his words.

Strong hands took hold of Draco's head, sliding back to tangle in his hair, whilst angling his head _just right_. And then Potter kissed him. Tentatively at first, just gentle brushes of lips, testing, seeking, and asking questions that Draco was only too happy to answer. Then Potter's hands were tugging insistently at the hem of his jumper, leaving Draco in no doubt of his intentions. 

Draco pulled back, reluctantly breaking the kiss, and pulled his top the rest of the way off. Barely had he dropped it on the floor before Potter was back, lips on his, and gentle hands smoothing over his skin, guiding him backwards towards the bed.

Potter was a revelation. As far as Draco knew, he had only limited experience with girls, and absolutely none with boys, yet he seemed to know just what to do, where to touch, to make Draco forget all the plans he had of his own.

He found himself guided carefully onto the mattress, and then Potter was kneeling over him, lowering his head until their lips met again. When this time Potter's tongue traced its way along Draco's bottom lip, he didn't hesitate. Almost sighing into the kiss, he opened his mouth and revelled in the feel of Potter's tongue slick against his own.

Wanting something more, Draco's hands made short work of the buttons on Potter's shirt. He took a moment then to slide his hands down the warm skin of Potter's back, before tracking their way slowly up his chest.

Potter pulled back then, and it was all Draco could do not to whine in protest. He shrugged his shirt off quickly, before settling more firmly on top of Draco this time, and wriggling his way between Draco's legs.

Draco's breath caught in his throat as he felt the warm touch of Potter's skin against his own. And then, as if his senses weren't overloading enough as it was, there was the unmistakeable press of Potter's erection. As soon as Draco was able to think straight again, he shifted slightly, allowing Potter to feel he wasn't the only one in that state.

Potter began to move then, and a soft groan escaped Draco's lips unbidden. Even though this definitely wasn't the first time he'd done this, it was the first time with _Potter_ , and not even in his wildest dreams had Draco ever imagined it could be this good.

Potter's lips trailed their way down Draco's neck, placing hot, open-mouthed kisses against the sensitive skin. And all the while he rocked his body against Draco's. Draco found himself biting down on his bottom lip in an effort to stifle what he was sure would be a most unmanly whimper, but he couldn't stop himself from arching off the bed, pushing his body even more firmly against Potter's.

Potter let out a throaty chuckle at this and gazed down at Draco with eyes that seemed as dark as the Black Lake. "You're amazing," he murmured, so softly that Draco wasn't even sure he'd heard right. But before he could ask Potter to clarify, Potter's mouth was busy elsewhere.

Draco hadn't even realised his nipples were that sensitive, until Potter kissed down his chest and flicked at them gently with his tongue. He gasped out loud as he felt teeth graze against the sensitive nubs. Potter chose that exact same moment to rotate his hips more forcefully before, causing the friction to reach glorious new heights. They moved against each other quicker now, in complete synchronisation, their breath hot on each other's faces.

Eventually, Potter's thrusts became more erratic. He lowered his head then, and as he bit gently at the crook of Draco's neck, his climax shuddered through him.

Potter slumped against him for a moment, breathing deeply, and for a moment Draco thought he'd actually fallen asleep. But then Potter pulled back with a slightly dazed grin on his face, and kissed Draco gently. It was lovely, and far more tender than anything Draco had ever experienced in the aftermath, but he still had a rather pressing issue to be dealt with. 

After a moment or two, he felt Potter's weight shift off him, and when Draco opened his eyes, it was to find Potter lying on his side, smiling back at him. Draco opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Potter beat him to it.

"Your turn now," he said simply.

With that, he reached over and deftly undid Draco's trousers. Draco opened his mouth, planning to say something incredibly stupid like 'you don't have to', but Potter just shook his head. 

"I want to."

At the first touch of Potter's hand on his cock, Draco knew this wouldn't take long. Potter traced his fingers along the shaft, before wrapping them firmly around it and beginning to stroke. Draco reached out and hooked one hand around the back of Potter's neck, tugging him in closer for a kiss. As their lips met, Potter increased the pace of his strokes, and Draco groaned his climax into the kiss.

They stayed like that for a few minutes. Wrapped in each other's arms, kissing languidly, with Potter's hand still firmly down Draco's trousers. 

Eventually, though, Potter pulled away. He reached out and snagged Draco's wand off the bedside table and cast a well-practised Cleaning Charm.

Draco lay watching Potter as he moved about drawing the bed's curtains around them. He had no idea what to expect now -- he'd never done this with someone he really _knew_ before. He hoped Potter would stay, wanted it even, but Draco wasn't quite sure if he would be able to ask for it. Fortunately, Potter had courage for both of them.

He climbed back on the bed and kissed Draco softly on the lips. "Stop thinking so much," he said, before casting a quiet "Nox," and curling himself sleepily around Draco's body.

~~~

When Harry woke the next morning it was to a dull, pounding headache and an empty bed.

He yawned, stretched, and then winced at the throbbing this movement set off. Then he laid still and silent, listening for any indication Malfoy's presence in the room. Harry was half tempted to just pull back the bed curtains and check, but his head had other ideas, and there was always a chance one of Malfoy's roommates might be around, and Harry was _not_ in the mood for a confrontation of that sort.

So Harry waited. As five minutes turned into ten, he tried to convince himself Malfoy was just in the bathroom. But as fifteen threatened to turn into twenty, Harry could lie to himself no longer. With a heavy heart, and even heavier head, he slowly eased himself into an upright position and shuffled to the edge of the bed.

By the time he had settled the folds of his Invisibility Cloak around him, anger was already simmering in the pit of Harry's stomach. It was bad enough that Malfoy had just run out after what had happened between them the night before, but that he had done it and left Harry alone in the Slytherin dungeons was unbelievable. Malfoy didn't know – or at least he shouldn't – that Harry had long since carried his Cloak with him everywhere he went, so how had he expected Harry to leave undetected? Malfoy had been pretty keen on keeping things between them discreet the night before – had been so horrified to wake up next to Harry that all thoughts of secrecy fled in the urge to get away?

Then Harry gave himself a mental shake – now was not the time. First he had to get out of this room, bypassing a snoring Theodore Nott who appeared to have only made it as far as the floor beside his bed, and through the dungeons beyond. 

Years of sneaking around this castle undetected stood Harry in good stead, and only a few minutes later he had made his escape and was heading up to Gryffindor Tower.

Harry had hoped the dormitory would be empty, to give him time to brood and lick his wounds in private. But, as the morning so far had already showed, this was not to be Harry's day.

Ron was still there, lounging against the pillows on his bed, and groaning like a dying man about the size of his hangover – which really did nothing to soothe Harry's headache. So he muttered a brief greeting and then headed to the bathroom.

Ten minutes of hot water running soothingly over his tired muscles and Harry felt something more like himself. The anger was still there, in fact, the longer he had to think about Malfoy, the more it increased. It had taken courage Harry hadn't known he possessed to make the first move like he had, and regardless of what had happened afterwards, it now felt like Malfoy had just thrown it all back in his face.

What should have been a memory to be savoured – possibly repeatedly whilst alone – had now become sullied with Malfoy's cowardice. Clearly he hadn't changed as much as Harry had given him credit for.

Ron had managed to make it into an upright position by the time Harry got back to the room – though he was still propped up by several pillows – and was clutching a mug of tea like a lifeline.

"Have you been down to breakfast dressed like that?" Harry eyed Ron's pyjama-clad body sceptically.

"Nah, mate." Ron had the smuggest of grins plastered on his face. "Kreacher's got a real soft spot for me just lately. He's only too happy to serve _Master Harry's Weasley_ "

Harry shook his head as slowly as he could. "Hermione'll have your balls if she catches you doing that, you know."

Ron just shrugged. "She's too busy running around with Boot to worry about things like that anymore." He paused then and took a gulp of his tea, then looked intently at Harry over the top of his mug. "Talking of which, you and Malfoy seemed to be getting on rather well last night."

That was the last thing Harry wanted to talk about – not just because of the twist his stomach did at the mention of Malfoy's name, but also because Ron was still unaware of just _how_ well him and Malfoy had been getting on.

"Not half as well as you and Pansy Parkinson." It was a desperate attempt to side track, and it worked a treat.

Ron had a dopey grin on his face and was clearly remembering things Harry would rather never hear of. "She's amazing. I mean, she's still a complete bitch when she wants, but she does this thing with—"

"For the love of Merlin, please don't ever finish that sentence. I saw enough last night to last a life time."

Ron remained unfazed. "I'm surprised you noticed, considering you only had eyes for Malfoy."

Harry's stomach clenched unpleasantly – again at the mention of Malfoy's name, but this time mainly fearful anticipation of Ron's reaction. "Don't talk daft," he muttered.

"I'm not." Ron took another swig from his mug and then paused to massage his temples lightly. "Look, Harry, you do know I don't care, right?"

The twisting sensation was now a full blown wave of nausea, and Harry couldn't find the words. Fortunately, Ron wasn't done.

"I know people think I'm a bit clueless and don't notice things – and they're right a lot of the time, but I'm not completely stupid."

"I never said you were."

"You don't have to. Actions speak louder," Ron replied, and his expression was far more serious than the one Harry's was used to seeing.

Harry rubbed tiredly at his face. "I don't know what you're getting at."

Ron banged his cup down loudly on the bedside table, and the resulting noise caused him to wince. "So were you planning on telling me you fancied Malfoy anytime soon? Or were you all having too much fun keeping me in the dark?"

Harry realised that further denials were useless at this stage, and he really _did_ want Ron to know the truth – it was only a fear of rejection that had caused him to keep it a secret. "I'm sorry. I wanted to tell you, honestly. But it's just not that easy a thing to come out with."

"And yet you managed to find the words to tell Ginny quite easily. And I wouldn't mind betting that Hermione knows."

Harry nodded reluctantly. "But in my defence, she worked it out herself."

"And Malfoy knows." Ron's glare showed that he considered this to be the biggest sin of all. 

"Would you really have wanted to find out the same way he did?"

Ron frowned for a moment while he worked that out, and then he flushed. "Merlin, Harry, that's disgusting. And not because of the gay thing," he added hurriedly. "But you're my best friend – it'd be like thinking that about one of my brothers."

Harry smiled slightly at this. Ron might be volatile, but he really did have a good heart, and Harry made a mental note to give his friend the benefit of the doubt more often. "I really am sorry, you know? I was still getting used to it myself."

Ron nodded and sat in silence for a moment with a thoughtful expression on his face. "So are you and Malfoy going out or something now? You were pretty cosy with him last night."

The smile dropped off Harry's face instantly. "I don't think so," he replied tersely.

Ron sat up in bed sharply. "What? Don't tell me that git turned you down? He should be bloody grateful to have you interested. You're quite a catch." Then, seeing Harry's amused expression, Ron added quickly, "according to _Witches Weekly_ that is."

"I don't think—"

"But you spent the night in the dungeons right?" Ron carried out as if Harry hadn't spoken. "I mean, you weren't here when I woke up."

Harry just nodded dumbly, hoping vainly that Ron would let it go.

"So what went wrong?"

Harry shrugged awkwardly – this wasn't a conversation he really wanted to be having with anyone, and certainly not Ron of all people. "I dunno. He'd already gone when I woke up this morning."

"I'll hex the little shit. Who the hell does—?"

"Don't, Ron," Harry cut in before his friend could get into his stride. "It's fine. I'm a big boy now, and I can handle my own battles – if they need to be fought."

"You're sure? Because I really wouldn't mind."

Harry nodded again. "Yeah, it's fine." 

Ron sat back against his pillows apparently satisfied with this answer – Harry only wished he could convince himself so easily.

~~~

Harry's first instinct was to hide, to shut himself away in his room and have Kreacher bring all his meals to him. But then anger overtook wounded pride at the forefront on his emotions, and Harry wanted answers. He hadn't imagined Malfoy's interest, he was sure of that, and neither one of them had been so drunk as to not know what they were doing – so what had changed?

Deciding he wanted answers was simple enough, but actually _getting_ them was another matter entirely. Malfoy was conspicuous by his absence over the entire weekend, and seemed to have opted for Harry's initial choice and sequestered himself in his room.

There was no sign of him at mealtimes, and Harry even took to lingering in the dungeon corridors under cover of his Cloak in hopes of catching a glimpse, but none came. As far as he could tell, Malfoy hadn't emerged from Slytherin the entire weekend – which only served to anger Harry further.

Sunday evening saw Harry on the verge of hammering on Slytherin's door and demanding to speak to him, but as Ron pointed out, causing a scene like that wouldn't exactly endear him to Malfoy, and anyway, _the ferret would have to come out on Monday whether he liked it or not_.

So Harry waited some more – he'd already managed two days, one more evening wasn't going to hurt.

"I don't know where he is, Potter." Pansy had a slightly shifty look in her eyes, but Harry couldn't decide if she was lying or if this was simply her default expression. "Maybe he's running late or something."

"Well, you can tell him from me—"

"Ron." Harry laid a hand warningly on his friend's arm. "Don't."

"I'd listen to Potter if I were you, Weasley. Just because I've let you take a few liberties, doesn't mean I'm your messenger girl." With that, Pansy gave a toss of her sleek, dark hair, and turned on her heel.

"Bollocks," Ron muttered.

Harry couldn’t help but smile, despite his own concerns. "Go on," he said, giving Ron a slight nudge. 

"Go on, what?"

Harry shook his head in amusement. "Go after her. You know you want to."

"I never…" Ron trailed off and glanced in the direction Pansy had gone. "Cheers, mate," he added quickly, and then disappeared. 

Harry smiled to himself – Ron certainly had his hands full with that one. He turned then to leave the Great Hall. There was no sign of either his appetite or Malfoy, so there was really no point remaining. 

" _Ooof!_ Watch where you're…oh, Potter, it's you."

Harry's heart felt like it stopped for just a fraction of a second as he realised just who he'd run – quite literally – into. Never one to miss an opportunity, he dived right in. "Malfoy," he acknowledged as casually as he could mange. "Do you have a minute? I want a word."

Malfoy's expression was carefully neutral. "I'm afraid I don't really have time at the moment. I'm running late for breakfast as it is."

The fact that Malfoy was looking almost everywhere but at his face only served to irritate Harry further. "Look" he said, voice low but hard. "Either you come with me now, or I can follow you over to the Slytherin table and we'll have the discussion there. You chose?" 

It was a bluff, of course, because Harry was dreading talking to Malfoy one on one as it was – the bare idea of doing it with an audience of Slytherin onlookers made his stomach churn.

"Fine." Malfoy spoke through gritted teeth and his expression was not so neutral anymore. He spun on his heel and strode from the room – after a moment's hesitation, Harry followed him.

They made it as far as the Entrance Hall before Malfoy stopped in an alcove just near the main doors. He opened his mouth to speak, but Harry beat him to it.

"I want to know what happened Friday night," he blurted out.

Even though he must have been expecting it, Malfoy still looked surprised by the question. "You were there, Potter. Surely I don't have to explain it to you."

"You know what I mean," Harry snapped, his frustration growing. "We…well, you know… and then you just buggered off and left me alone in your bed, and I just want—"

"It was a mistake." Malfoy said the words as casually as if commenting on the weather. "We'd both had a few drinks too many and got a bit carried away. These things happen."

"Not to me they don't," Harry replied hotly. "And don't pretend like you were too drunk to know what you were doing – that's a lie and we both know it."

"It was a _mistake_ , Potter," Malfoy repeated. "It shouldn't have happened, and it won't again. Let's just leave it at that."

Harry's instinct was to argue the point and he automatically opened his mouth to do so, but there was this look of disinterest, boredom even, on Malfoy's face, and he snapped it shut again. Though a part of him didn't believe Malfoy, Harry realised that trying to force the issue would only make him look desperate, and he wanted to cling on to the tattered remnants of his self-respect as long as he could.

"Fine," he gritted out eventually. "If that's how you want." Harry left then, as quickly as possible, without waiting to hear Malfoy's reply – he'd heard enough for one day.

After that, Harry did his best to avoid Malfoy. Ginny and Hermione questioned him constantly about what had happened – but Harry told them nothing. He'd just waved them off with a few vague answers and hoped that would be enough for now. He hadn't really expected it to work, so when they both appeared to back off, Harry couldn’t help but suspect Ron's tongue had been wagging just a little.

Harry was existing quite nicely in his happy bubble of Malfoy denial until the following Tuesday when he was heading down to the dungeons for Potions with Ron.

Ron was bending his ear about some new Quidditch defence strategy he'd read about, but Harry wasn't really paying attention. He had already spotted a familiar blond head in the corridor up ahead, and however much he tried to tell himself he didn't care, Harry's stomach always did strange twisty things whenever Malfoy was around.

"Bloody hell!"

Ron's words more than echoed Harry's sentiments at the sight of Malfoy kissing Astoria Greengrass right in front of him. Harry felt an old familiar clawing sensation fill his chest, and had to resist the urge to tear them apart and claim Malfoy as his own. Which was ridiculous, Harry admitted to himself, because Malfoy _wasn't_ his. Never had been.

"Are you all right, mate?"

Harry knew Ron meant well, but the sympathy in his best friend's eyes only made him feel worse. "Fine." Harry gave as nonchalant a shrug as he could mange. "Why shouldn't I be?"

"I just thought… you know…" Ron gestured vaguely in the direction of where Malfoy and Astoria were now standing close, holding hands.

"Why should I care? What Malfoy chooses to do with his life is none of my business." 

They reached the door to the Potions classroom and were just about to enter when Harry felt a hand on his arm.

"Potter, I need a word."

Harry tensed instantly. He recognised the voice without the need to turn around.

"Piss off, Malfoy. Harry doesn't want to talk to you."

"It's okay, Ron. I can handle this." Harry turned round slowly and felt that familiar twist in his stomach. 

"Yes, Weasley, why don't you run along and letter Potter speak for himself."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry said tiredly. The last thing he wanted was for those two to start fighting at every available opportunity again. "Ron, I'll be back in a minute." With that, Harry walked back out into the corridor. He leant against the wall opposite and crossed his arms defensively across his chest. "Well?"

Malfoy shifted uncertainly for a moment. "I just wanted to explain about…" He gestured vaguely with his hand. "Astoria and I – that kiss meant nothing."

"You don't owe me any explanations," Harry replied coldly. "Your life is your business – I think you made it pretty clear it was nothing to do with me."

Malfoy stepped a little closer, his brow creased with a frown. "I've handled this badly," he said finally, before raking one hand distractedly through his hair. "What I said, about it being a mistake – that wasn't true."

Harry resolutely ignored the hopeful little flip his heart did. "Then why say it?" he asked, and tried his hardest to keep all emotion from his tone. 

"Because it can't happen," Malfoy replied simply. "It's not that I don't want to, but I'm getting married next year, and I…"

"You what?" Harry prodded.

The flush was colouring Malfoy's face even before he began to speak. "It's just, if we started something, I don't think I'd be able to walk away, and you deserve more than being someone's _bit on the side_."

Harry was left speechless for a moment. Of all the reasons he had imagined for Malfoy's behaviour, this hadn't even crossed his mind. "You don't _have_ to get married," he blurted out finally.

"We've already been over this, Potter. I owe it to my family."

"And what about what you owe to yourself? To me?" Harry pushed off the wall and closed the distance between them.

"It's not that simple," Malfoy said, taking a step backwards. "I can't just disappoint my family to make you happy."

"What about to make your _self_ happy? Isn't that good enough reason?" Harry could feel the frustration building in him again. For one moment he'd thought he was being given a second chance, but now Malfoy was ripping it away again.

"You don't understand. My parents—"

"Your parents love you, Malfoy," Harry butted in. "Your mother lied to Voldemort for you. Do you really think they'd want you to spend the rest of your life miserable?"

"I'm getting married, Potter. It's what my parents want, and there's nothing you can say that's going to change that."

Harry gazed for a moment at the defiant expression on Malfoy's face. "Fine," he said slowly. "If that's how it is, then I don't see the point of this conversation, and we have a ~Potions class to get to."

~~~

"Draco, darling, there you are. I've been looking for you all over."

Draco looked from his mother to the main doors which were less than fifteen feet away and just arched one brow.

Narcissa let out a tinkling laugh. "Obviously I didn’t do it myself, silly. I had that nice friend of yours, Blaise, help me out."

Draco had seen the way Blaise eyed his mother sometimes so had no trouble believing this to be true. He swiftly strode the short distance between them and lightly kissed her cheek. "Why are you here?" he asked as he stepped back.

Narcissa affected a mock-wounded expression. "To see you of course, darling. One would think a son would be pleased to see his mother."

"Of course I am, Mother. You know that. But it is a little unexpected for you to turn up at school, unannounced, on a Thursday evening."

"I had some business in Hogsmeade," she replied airily, not quite meeting her son's eyes. "And what sort of mother would I be if I let slip the opportunity to see my son and catch up on all his news."

Draco had many years experience in knowing how to smell a rat, and the stench now was overwhelming, but for the moment he decided to play along – at least until he had figured out just what his mother was up to.

"I've had a word with the Headmistress, and made reservations, and tonight you and I shall dine together at _The Red Lion."_

Draco suppressed a smile at this. Normally his mother wouldn't be caught eating anywhere so Gryffindorish as _The Red Lion._ But since it's opening a few months earlier, it had become _the_ restaurant for anyone who wanted to be anyone in wizarding society to be seen in. "That sounds wonderful," was the only comment he made.

"Indeed," Narcissa agreed, but by this time she was a little distracted by the other students now milling into the hall.

"Are you looking for someone?" Draco asked curiously, for it really seemed as if she were.

"Goodness, no." Narcissa gave another one of her tinkling laughs. "I'm just admiring the wonderful job they've done of restoring the old castle."

Now Draco was convinced his mother was covering something up – under normal circumstances, she would never willing allude to anything at all related to the war. "Okay," he replied slowly. "I'll just fetch my cloak and then we can get going."

"Okay, but do hurry, dear. We have a table reserved for seven, and the carriage is waiting outside."

Whatever it was his mother wanted was more than worth it for the meal he'd just eaten, Draco mused as he settled his cutlery on the empty plate. Glaringly vulgar though the colour scheme may be inside, the foot itself was undisputedly exquisite.

"How was your venison?" Draco asked politely – the conversation had lapsed between them somewhat during the meal, and Draco was anxious to get to the point of the visit.

"Lovely," Narcissa replied, before dabbing her mouth with a napkin. "Perhaps a little more port in the sauce would have been better, but still it was very good."

The waiter appeared promptly at that point and swiftly cleared their plates, and left the dessert menu in its place.

"Not for me," Narcissa said instantly and handed it over to Draco.

"Nor me."

"Are you feeling quite well, darling?" Narcissa reached forward as if to feel Draco's forehead, but he moved back just in time.

"I'm fine," he muttered with a faint scowl. "I'm not a baby."

"Indeed," Narcissa agreed. "You're practically a grown man now, and yet sometimes…well, forgive me for saying it, Draco, but you act like a child."

Draco spluttered here in what he felt was righteous indignation. "I most certainly do not."

"Really?" Draco felt slightly uneasy at the knowing look his mother sent him. "So you weren't planning to marry a girl you don't love to placate your father and avoid telling us both that you're gay."

It was a good job Draco had swallowed his wine an instant before his mother spoke, because he was sure she wouldn't have taken very kindly to being sprayed with it. "What?"

"It's okay," Narcissa replied, before taking a delicate sip of her own drink. "I know all about it. I had the most informative letter from your friend Pansy – and a Weasley, believe it or not."

Frankly, Draco chose _not_. "Mother, I don't think…you shouldn't listen to what Pansy says. You know how she gets."

"Draco! Do not make this worse by continuing the lie." Narcissa placed her glass firmly on the table, her knuckles tipped white where she gripped so hard. "I'm not sure who I'm more furious at – your father for pushing this madness on you, yet again. Or you, for being willing to go through with a charade, rather than trust your own mother with the truth."

Draco suddenly became incredibly interested in the table cloth. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I didn't mean to lie, it was just—"

"Easier, I know," Narcissa finished. "I understand why, Draco, it just makes me sad, that's all." Then she gave herself a visible shake. "However, that's enough of dwelling on that. I have spoken with the Greengrasses and officially ended the betrothal."

Draco gaped openly at this. "But Father—" 

"I have spoken with your father too, and suffice to say he now sees things from _my_ point of view." Narcissa smiled lightly here, and Draco felt a moment of pity for his father – everyone might think Lucius Malfoy was the trouser wearer in the Manor, but they would be much mistaken.

"Thank you." And never before in his life had Draco meant those words so much. It wasn't until the threat of it was completely removed, that he understood just how much of a weight the impending marriage had been on his shoulders. And it was a further sign of his relief that rather than plotting Pansy's imminent demise for her interference, he was actually planning a visit to Honeydukes on her behalf. 

Narcissa actually appeared a little sad then. "You don't have to thank me for it, darling. I'm your mother – it's my job to love and accept you, no matter what. And it's become apparent to me over the last year or so that there are things in this life far more important than reputation." She stopped here for a moment and allowed a tiny smirk to cross her lips. "Besides, you marrying Potter would be such a coup that not even your father could object."

Draco really did spray a little wine this time – fortunately, not over his mother. "I'll bloody kill Pansy," he said darkly. "There's nothing going on between me and Potter."

Narcissa smiled pleasantly at him and Draco's heart sank ever so slightly – he just knew she was already planning colour schemes.

~~~

As much as Harry tried to keep his mind of his troubles during the day, at night his mind had no such defences against the memories. So sleep, when it came, was troubled and restless, and it took little effort to wake him.

"How did you get in here?" Harry was still half asleep and really not happy at having been woken at all, and certainly by the last person he wanted to see right now.

"I got the password off Pansy," Malfoy admitted softly, his face peering between the red curtains on Harry's bed.

Harry frowned, and it took his sleep-fuddled mind a moment to process this. "How did she—" His words were cut off by the sound of a girlish giggle emanating from Ron's bed and the penny dropped. "Oh."

"Yes, exactly," Malfoy agreed with a grimace.

The haze of sleep now having receded somewhat, Harry found himself remembering exactly _why_ he didn't want to see Malfoy, and just how mad he still was. "What d'you want?" 

"To talk. Would it be okay if I came in?" Malfoy gestured in the direction of the bed with a hopeful expression on his face.

What Harry really wanted was to say no, for Malfoy to go away, and for him to be able to get a good night's sleep for once. But as Harry had learnt over the years, he rarely got what he wanted, so with a vain hope of _getting it over with_ , he nodded reluctantly.

Harry tried to feign disinterest as Malfoy clambered through the curtains and settled himself, cross-legged, on the bed – but it was easier said than done. This was the first time he had been this close, and alone with Malfoy since _that_ night – and the fact that they were alone in the dim light of his bed wasn't helping matters.

With a flick of his wand and a few murmured words, Malfoy conjured a small ball of light that cast a soft glow around the enclosed bed. Harry wasn't sure that he didn't prefer the darkness – it was going to be _that_ much harder now he could actually _see_ Malfoy.

"I thought you wanted to talk," Harry snapped after Malfoy sat there silently fidgeting.

"I do. I'm just trying to figure out what to say."

Malfoy seemed earnest and genuine, but Harry really wasn't in the mood to be forgiving. "Couldn't it have waited? It's gone one in the morning, and I'm already knackered."

"No, it can't." Malfoy ran one hand through his hair in what looked like agitation. Harry couldn't help watch as the soft blond strands settled gently back into place. "You avoid me all day – this is the only way."

"D'you blame me?" Harry demanded indignantly. "I can't just pretend like nothing happened, Draco." He realised the moment the word left his mouth what he had said, but it was too late to take it back, and all hopes that it had gone unnoticed were swiftly shattered.

"That's the first time you've ever called me that." Malfoy's eyes were wide with surprise and just the faintest hint of a smile curved his lips.

"Don't worry, I won't do it again." Harry didn't necessarily mean for the words to come out that sharply, but he was hurting, and Malfoy was just sitting there like nothing had happened.

"No!" Harry tensed as Malfoy reached out for his hand. "I like it."

Harry tried to pull his hand away, but Malfoy was stronger than he looked and he held on tight.

"I don’t blame you for avoiding me," Malfoy added hurriedly, "but I just wanted to apologise and to tell you—"

"What?" Harry demanded. He'd heard Malfoy's apologies before, and they hadn't made any difference then either. Words were cheap and entirely meaningless when he had no intention of changing.

"That you don't have to do it anymore." Malfoy finally released his hold on Harry's hand, allowing long fingers to softly stroke his wrist as they unfurled.

"That's not really for you to decide, is it?" Harry found it impossible to keep the irritation out of his voice – or he would have, if he'd even tried.

"I didn't mean it like that." Malfoy raked another hand through his hair and tugged slightly. "This is all coming out wrong.

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but before the words could leave his lips a soft moan of "oh Ron," from the next bed over, followed by some inaudible but nonetheless husky sounding speech from his best friend made it impossible for him to concentrate. If for no other reason that the look of abject horror on Malfoy's face.

Harry scrubbed roughly at his face and stifled a yawn. "Look, there's obviously no way I'm getting back to sleep any time soon, so if you insist on us talking, how about we take it down to the common room?"

~~~

It was the first time Draco had been in the Gryffindor common room, but considering all the devious plans he had once harboured of exactly _what_ he would do if he ever gained entrance, right now all he cared about was getting through to Harry.

Draco flopped down on one of the large squashy sofas and hoped that the dying fire in the nearby grate would be sufficient heat to keep him warm. When he looked up, Draco saw that Harry was crossing the room to join him, and that he, at least, had had the foresight to slip a jumper on. A hideous bright red jumper with a yellowy 'H' on it, but a source of heat nonetheless. It clashed horribly with his green checked pyjamas, but for once, the fashion critic within Draco was silenced – he was far too busy noting how adorably sleep-rumpled Harry was. 

He watched with a sinking heart as Harry headed towards one of the armchairs placed as far away from the sofa as possible. "Sit here, please?" There was a time Draco would have been mortified at just how close to pleading his voice sounded, but right now he didn't care.

Even though the room was only lit by the fading flames of several open fires, there was still enough light that Draco could make out the reluctance on Harry's face. Just as he was about to give up hope, Harry agreed. Granted, he still sat as far away from him as it was possible to do within the confines of the sofa, but Draco decided not to push the issue.

"Carry on, then," Harry said, as he curled himself snugly into his seat.

"I forgot where I was," Draco admitted sheepishly. "Just the thought of what those two are getting up to," he paused and shuddered slightly, "it's thrown me off."

Potter allowed a tiny smile to cross his face briefly, but then it faded into more hardened lines. "You were just telling me how I didn't need to be angry with you anymore." And Potter's tone left Draco in no doubt as to how he felt about _that_.

"No!" Draco reached out involuntarily towards Potter, but managed to stop himself just in time. Then, before Harry could argue that point, which it was obvious from his expression he intended to do, Draco continued. "I didn't mean that. I meant...you don't have to pretend like nothing happened anymore."

From the lines of his body, Draco could see some of the tension slip away from Potter – or at least it seemed that way – so he ploughed onwards, allowing hope to flicker to life within his chest.

"Mother came to see me last week. We had dinner in Hogsmeade."

"That's nice for you. Making wedding plans were you?" Harry's words dripped with a bitterness that caused Draco to wince.

"No," he said quickly. "That's just it – there's not going to be a wedding."

That got Potter's attention. He sat forward slightly in his seat. "What?"

Draco took this as a good sign and moved slightly closer towards him. Not enough to startle, but just enough to feel like progress. "Mother cancelled it. She's informed the Greengrasses that the betrothal is over, _and_ read my father the riot act about pressuring me into things again."

Potter was silent for a moment, and just stared at Draco as if he didn't quite believe what he'd heard. "Wow," he said finally. "That’s…what changed?"

Draco gave a wry grin. "Believe it or not, I have Weasley and Pansy to thank for that. Although, I'm still not over wanting to Hex the pair of them stupid for the risk they took on my behalf."

Harry frowned then, a tiny line creased between his brows, and Draco practically had to sit on his hand to suppress the urge to reach out and smooth it away. "Ron? What does he have to do with your mum changing her mind?"

"Well, apparently he got fed up with you moping and pining." Draco paused here as he noted the expression on Potter's face – he held up his hands in a placating fashion. "His words, not mine." And when Potter nodded in acceptance of this face, Draco went on with his explanation. "He persuaded Pansy – although I have my doubts as to just how much persuasion was actually required – that they should write a little to my mother, basically telling her how barbaric it was to make me get married because I'm gay and…and because I have the hots for you." Draco could feel embarrassment heat up his cheeks at those last words – he could only hope that the light was sufficiently dim that Potter would not notice.

"Bloody hell, that _was_ one hell of a risk to take." Potter was wide-eyed and alert now. "So what did your mum have to say about it? Was she mad?"

Draco allowed himself a moment to bask in what felt like Potter's concern. "A bit, I suppose," he allowed. "But mainly at father for pushing the issue in the first place, and then at me for not coming to her with the truth."

"So your parents both know then," Potter stated, somewhat redundantly.

"Yes." Draco gave a brief nod.

"And they're okay with it?"

"I think okay might be pushing it where Father's concerned, but he'll get over it eventually. Or at least, he will, until he finds out who my boyfriend is."

And just like that Potter's face became a blank, expressionless mask. "Boyfriend?" he repeated flatly.

"Boyfriend," Draco repeated with a smile, and reached out for Potter's hand again. "If you still want to?"

Potter's expression went through a myriad of emotions in the shortest of time, ranging from disbelief, to hope, before finally settling on one that resembled happiness. "I _should_ still be mad at you," he said softly. "But…"

"But what?" Draco prompted, his stomach alive with butterflies.

Potter smiled then. That beautiful, heart-stopping smile that just recently caused Draco's stomach to swoop every time he saw it. "If there's one thing I've learnt over the last few years, it's that life's too short." 

Draco glanced down to where Potter had laced the fingers of their joined hands together. "Really?"

Potter never actually answered Draco's question. He just murmured, "Come here," and then tugged Draco across the remaining distance between them, and into the sweetest, most tender kiss Draco had ever experienced.

~~~

Harry was cutting it fine when he made his way down for breakfast the next morning. The rest of his roommates appeared already to have left – with the exception of Ron, whose curtains were still drawn. And given the very good idea Harry had of just _what_ his best friend had been up to the night before, there was no way he was taking the risk of opening them.

Instead, he ambled down to breakfast, yawning expansively along the way. His hair, even more so than usual, had a mind of its own, and as he approached the Gryffindor table, Harry was still fumbling with the knot of his tie.

No sooner had he sank onto the bench at Hermione's side, than she batted his hands away. "Let me," she replied tersely, and then promptly slid the knot into place with just a little more force than Harry felt was necessary.

She pulled back then and watched Harry through narrowed eyes. " _You_ look terrible," she said finally, and it came out more like an accusation than a show of concern.

"I didn't sleep well." It wasn't exactly the truth, but it was close enough, and this was neither the time nor the place for the grilling Harry knew would be forthcoming if he was completely honest.

Hermione opened her mouth and Harry's heart sank – clearly she had no intention of being put off that easily. But then, Ron slumped onto the bench at Harry's other side and gave an incredibly loud yawn.

"Honestly." Hermione's focus was all on Ron now, much to Harry's immense relief, so he turned his attention to the spread of food in front and left Ron to fend for himself.

Harry was halfway through his eggs and bacon by the time Hermione left – hot-footing it out of the Great Hall on some urgent Head Girl errand or other.

"Thanks mate." Ron's words were muffled by the food he was now hastily cramming in, but Harry hadn't been his best friend all these years without being able to translate.

"What for?" he asked, affecting innocence and reaching for more toast at the same time.

Ron shook his head and then swallowed heavily. "After I helped you out with…" Ron gestured vaguely in the direction of the Slytherin table and gave a mock-shudder as he said "Malfoy. Is that any way to show your gratitude?"

"Well, it's _your_ fault," Harry said, and then, before Ron could protest, he continued, "Draco told me what you and Pansy did, and I really am grateful for it. He also taught me a really interesting Impotence Hex, and if you don't want to become intimately acquainted with it, then for the love of Merlin, next time use a bloody Silencing Charm."

Ron flushed a colour not too dissimilar to his hair, and when Neville, Ginny, and a couple of others began to laugh at his obvious embarrassment, he let out a groan and buried his head in his hands on the table.

Ron was never down for long though. Moments later he looked up and grinned at Harry. "You wouldn't, would you?" He sounded confident enough in his words, but Harry could spot the hint of uncertainty in his eyes.

Quite unable to resist teasing further, Harry slid the tip of his wand down his sleeve and gazed steadily at his best friend. "Do you really want to chance it?"

Ron's gaze flickered towards Harry's wand, and then looked back up in time just to see Draco slide into Hermione's recently vacated seat. "I've created a monster," he grumbled.

Draco promptly slung one arm around Harry's shoulder and pulled him close. "And a two-headed one at that, Weasley," he chipped in.

~~~


End file.
